


Of Ink and Parchment

by HardNoctLife



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: A little bit of everything, Angst, Angst and Feels, Comedy, Explicit Language, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Inktober, Inktober 2019, Language, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Multi, One Shot, One Shot Collection, Romance, Sex, Smut, Trying to tag this is probably impossible I'm not sure why I'm trying, Unrequited Love, something for everyone - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-11-07 15:23:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 46,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20819540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HardNoctLife/pseuds/HardNoctLife
Summary: Inktober 2019 prompts inspired this one-shot collection.Each chapter is an individual day (see notes at the beginning of each chapter for any ratings/warnings/ship information.) There's a little bit of everything in here: romance, fluff, angst, smut, etc. I hope you enjoy!





	1. Ring

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompts**:  
1\. **Ring: ** Iris's final phone call to Noctis  
2\. ** Mindless: ** Ignis learns to relieve stress by throwing knives  
3\. **Bait: **Noctis and Prompto go fishing (Promptis)  
4\. **Freeze**: Noctis asks Prompto about photography (Promptis)  
5\. ** Build: ** Noctis breaks down the walls around Prompto’s heart (Promptis)  
6\. ** Husky: ** the bros play a lighthearted game  
7\. ** Enchanted: ** Ignis turns into a frog and chaos ensues  
8\. ** Frail: ** Cindy is anything but  
9\. **Swing: ** A mysterious boy confronts the Crownsguard  
10\. **Pattern: ** Noctis traces patterns in Prompto’s freckles (Promptis)  
11\. **Snow: ** snow day with the bros (OT4, IgNoct)  
12\. ** Dragon: ** Prompto convinces Noctis to help with a school project  
13\. ** Ash: ** a poem about the bros’ journey  
14\. ** Overgrown: ** a ridiculous misunderstanding in a convenience store (Promptio)  
15\. ** Legend: ** some legendary sex (Promptio)  
16\. ** Wild: ** learning about chocobos (Promnis)  
17\. ** Ornament: ** a letter from Ignis  
18\. ** Misfit:** a rooftop conversation about vices (Gladnis)  
19\. ** Sling:** bartender AU (Gladnis)  
20\. ** Tread:** Regis explains “Walk tall” to Noctis  
21\. ** Treasure:** Prompto’s photographs (OT4)  
22\. ** Ghost:** a furry addition to the family (Promnis)  
23\. ** Ancient**: the boys get a history lesson (Promnis)  
24\. ** Dizzy**: Prompto describes how Ignis makes him feel (Promnis)  
25\. ** Tasty**: apologizing with pastries (IgNoct)  
26\. ** Dark**: Gladio in the World of Ruin  
27\. ** Coat**: Will be a part of the FFXV Mini Bang  
28\. ** Ride**: OT4 smut  
29\. ** Injured**: Ignis is sick (Promnis)  
30\. ** Catch**: Regis plays 'catch' with Noctis  
31\. ** Ripe**: A ghost story around the campfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story in which we get to see Iris's reactions and thoughts regarding her last phone call to Noctis at the end of the game. Angst and feels ahoy. 
> 
> I also wrote this for my Discord group's weekly prompt. The challenge was "song tag" and I was given the song _Heartbeat_ by Vérité by @aceflorins. You will see lyrics from the song scattered throughout the fic!
> 
> _Iris clutched the phone so tight that her knuckles drained of color. A name she had not seen on her screen in years was now illuminated in stark black and white: one missed call – Noctis. _
> 
> No archive warnings apply, for general audiences.

_ Ring ring ring—! Ring ring ring—! _

Iris Amicitia ran to where her phone was sitting on the edge of the table, and seeing her brother’s name flash across the screen, answered right away. She had just gotten back from a daemon hunt and wanted nothing more than to soak in a hot bath, but Gladio tended to get cranky if she ignored his calls. 

“Hello—” The greeting was barely past her lips before Gladio interrupted. 

“He’s back.” 

Out of context, the statement would have seemed vague to anyone else, but to Iris, it was as if the simple phrase had caused the world to tilt on its axis, knees going weak so that she had to lean her weight against the table to prevent herself from falling down. 

“Iris, did you hear me?” Gladio demanded gruffly. 

She opened her mouth to reply, but no words came out. There was a ringing in her ears, heartbeat louder than a bass drum, pounding into nothing. 

“Iris? Hello, are you there?” 

“I’m here,” she finally managed to whisper. “You’re sure?” Iris ran a hand through her short hair, looking around her Lestallum apartment as if seeing it for the first time, wondering if she was somehow dreaming. 

“Sure as I live and breathe,” Gladio said. “We’re heading out to finish things, but I knew you would want to know.” 

“You’re leaving for Insomnia now?” Iris was on her feet again, some of her strength returning now that the initial shock had passed. She flitted from the kitchen into her bedroom, beginning to dig through her closet for clothes. “Wait for me—I’ll come join you. Where are you guys?” she asked. 

There was an uncomfortable silence on the other line, and Iris paused in her hurried packing, a gnawing in her gut. It didn’t take long for her brother to confirm her fears. 

“Actually…we’re already in Insomnia with the Kingsglaive.” There was an underlying guilt to his tone. “Iris, things may get messy. I’m going to need you to hold things down in Lestallum, just in case.” 

Iris sank onto the edge of her bed, a wave of emotions threatening to drown her. _Just in case? What the hell does that mean?_

“Gladdy, I’m not a little kid anymore,” she said tightly, biting back the tears that blurred the edges of her vision. _ They don’t call me Iris the Daemonslayer for nothing _ , she wanted to add . _ Don’t push me away. _

“I know,” he replied soothingly. “But this is something we started, and we need to finish it together—the four of us.” 

_ The four of us. _

It shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did to hear, but some things don’t change, not even in ten years. 

“Right,” Iris said, her tone flatter than she initially intended. 

“Iris…” 

“I’ll talk to you soon, Gladio. Say hi to Noct for me.” 

She hung up, tossing her phone into the rumbled pile of clothing she had pulled out, making no move to put it away. Flopping onto her back, Iris started up at the ceiling, the strange sensation that she was merely broken bones in an empty body overwhelming her into stillness. 

* * *

When Iris’s tears had dried and her anger had burned from a blaze to a dull ember, the young woman retrieved her phone, scanning idly through her notifications. 

Three missed calls from Gladio, a text message from Prompto, and— 

Iris clutched the phone so tight that her knuckles drained of color. A name she had not seen on her screen in years was now illuminated in stark black and white: _o__ne missed call __– __Noctis_. She stared at the screen longer than she should have, debating. Several times she pulled up his contact information, thumb hovering over the call button, only to return to the home screen. 

_ What would I even say? _ Anything she could think of sounded trite—shallow. It had been ten years. He deserved more than a phone call. 

Iris puttered around her apartment, trying to convince herself to eat something while she considered her next steps, but nothing in her fridge appeared appetizing, and she had no energy to make something from scratch. After twenty minutes of stalling without anything to show for it, she eventually wandered over to the couch and sat down, tapping her fingers against the phone that was still in her hand. 

“Forget it. I’m doing it,” Iris decided. Taking a deep breath, she dialed Noctis’s number, amazed at how her fingers still remembered it by heart. 

It rang once—then twice. Fear rising inexplicably, Iris hung up, swallowing hard against the lump that had formed in her throat. _ You’re being ridiculous_, she scolded herself. 

Turning on the TV, the young woman aimed to distract herself from her feelings with whatever happened to be on, but the laughter of the characters in the sitcom she found echoed hollowly in her ears, grating at her already electrified nerves—not to mention she caught herself glancing down at her cell every few seconds, hoping to see it light up. She was disappointed (and embarrassed) every time it didn’t. 

Two excruciating hours passed that way before the Glaive resigned herself to trying to sleep, even if she didn’t feel the least bit tired. Maybe some rest was just what she needed to clear her head, but when Iris laid down all she could do was stare up at the ceiling, thoughts dancing through her mind at a dizzying tempo. 

She sat up, turning on the bedside lamp and opening the drawer of the side table. Rummaging through a couple miscellaneous items, she pulled out a worn leatherbound notebook at the bottom, a sixteenth birthday present from her older brother that she had put to good use. Flipping through the pages, she found what she was looking for, a folded piece of paper from ten years ago. She removed it from where it was currently serving as a bookmark, smoothing the rumpled page as she skimmed over the familiar words, heart beating in her throat as she read. 

_ Dear Noctis, _

_I’m writing this down so I will one day have the courage to tell you this in person. Ever since I met you,_ _I have wanted to be by your side. I didn’t understand it at first, but when I heard you were supposed to marry Luna, I knew_ _I could finally put a name to what I was feeling__…_

Iris put the page aside, shutting the book and pressing it to her chest as she inhaled, slow and deep. She felt like a little girl being pushed on a swing, body going higher and higher, pushing the boundaries of gravity. If she wasn’t careful, she would fall. 

Luna was gone, but Noctis wasn’t. It was now or never. 

Iris reached for her phone and dialed Noctis’s number. She listened to the dial tone ring, ignoring the voice that told her she was making a mistake. 

“Hello?” 

“Noct?” There was no doubt it was him—she would recognize that voice anywhere—but for some reason, she felt the need to ask. It was wonderful and strange to hear a voice Iris had heard every night in her dreams speaking to her now, and the shock of it sent a thrill through her, like plunging into cold water. 

“Iris!” Was that happiness she heard in his tone? Suddenly, Iris was a little girl again, stomach filling with butterflies. 

“I didn’t believe Gladdy when he told me you were back,” she admitted. She still didn’t quite believe it, but the overwhelming joy she felt seemed like proof enough. Part of her hoped the feeling would never go away. 

Iris heard Noctis clear his throat. Even after all this time, he still sounded like the same old Noct. “How’ve you been?” 

_ What a loaded question. _ Iris hesitated. _ You can do this, Iris! _

“I’ve…been okay.” A brief pause, then— “Actually, there’s something I wanted to talk with you about.” 

_Oh gods, oh gods—I __actually_ _said__ that out loud__?__! _Iris felt her pulse quicken, and the woman was thankful that she was already horizontal, because she was afraid if she wasn’t that she might faint. 

“What?” he wondered, curious. _ Sweet Six, how I’ve missed hearing that voice. _Iris debated, but she felt her instincts were right. Noctis deserved more than a phone call. 

“It can wait. I’d rather talk about it in person. So, just make sure you come back in one piece, okay?” Iris put all her emotion into the request, hoping that Noctis would get the message. 

“Yeah.” Iris heard the softening of Noctis’s tone. “Thanks for taking care of everyone while I was gone. And if anything happens, I’ll be counting on you.” _On me? _Iris’s heart skipped a beat, and she smiled, but a tendril of fear unfurled in her gut, the butterflies scurrying away. 

_ If anything happens—no, we’ve come too far to fail now__! _

“I’m sure nothing will happen. See you soon, okay, Noct?” Iris held her breath as she waited for his response, hopeful. 

“Yeah, see you soon.” When he hung up, Iris turned her face into a pillow and exhaled loudly. 

_ It’s a date. _

* * *

Somehow, someway, Iris eventually fell asleep—and when she woke up, she could _feel_ something was different. Her room was brighter than normal, even with the lamp still on. Iris blinked in bewilderment, rubbing the last dreams from her eyes as she tried to put a finger on what had changed. 

When it hit her, she gasped, throwing back the covers to run to her window. Pulling the blinds up frantically, she squeezed her eyelids shut against the flood of light that smacked her in the face, stronger than any blow. 

There was an explosion in the sky—the sun had returned. 

Iris stood there, letting her body adjust to the star’s power. She had forgotten how the sunlight _ burned, _but it was in that pleasant way, like you had gotten too close to a fire. The woman leaned her entire body into it, inhaling the scent of summer days long forgotten. 

They had done it. The battle had been won. 

Iris called Gladio first, unable to sit still as she buzzed with glee. She danced from side to side, throwing on the first clothes she could find and not caring if they matched. 

_ Ring ring ring—! Ring ring ring—! _

The call went to voicemail as Iris stumbled out her front door, hurrying to join the small crowd of people who were already milling about in the street, everyone talking excitedly to one another. 

“The sun—it’s back!” someone was saying. “Praise the Six!” 

Iris called Noctis next, grinning like an idiot as she waved to her neighbors. There were people hugging, and crying, but they were happy tears. The overwhelming joy was palpable, a warm blanket enveloping them all. 

“Come on, answer already!” Iris said to herself. No luck—she tried Prompto and Ignis too, with the same result. 

_ They must be busy celebrating_, she reassured herself. Iris tucked her phone away in her pocket and tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her chest, forcing a smile. 

* * *

It wasn’t until after the third time without any answer that Iris began to truly worry. For Gladio not to answer her phone calls was one thing, but for Ignis _and_ Prompto to not call her back? It was beyond troubling. 

Something was wrong, but she held stubbornly to excuses for their radio silence—they had no cell service, they were sleeping, they were too busy enjoying the sun’s return that they hadn’t checked their phones. 

Anything was a better explanation than what she feared. 

And so, Iris spent the majority of the day pacing in her apartment, forgoing the countless celebrations that were popping up around the city in favor of clinging to the darkness she was comfortable with. Ten years of night had left her already sunburned from the few minutes of exposure to the light, which gave her another excuse to skip out on the parties and sulk in her bedroom. 

“Come on, Gladdy, answer me!” she growled, throwing her phone in frustration across the bed when it went to voicemail for the fourth time. Iris had nearly convinced herself to set out for Insomnia on her own, going as far as to start packing a bag, when a shrill tone pierced the air, making her jump. 

_ Ring ring ring—! Ring ring ring—! _

Diving for where her phone was nestled in her comforter, Iris picked up without looking at the caller ID. 

“Hello?” she answered, breathless. 

“Iris.” It was Gladio. His voice, tired and battered, sucked all of the energy from the room, making a cold chill shoot through his captive audience. 

She knew, and yet— 

_ Don’t tell me. _

“Noctis, he’s…” 

_ No—don’t— _

When Gladio’s voice broke, showing a vulnerability Iris had never known, it was as if the tip of a blade had sunk into the young woman’s chest, cutting straight through layers of muscle and bone, into her heart. “…he’s gone. It’s over.” 

Dim romantic sparks that Iris had harbored for years flickered and die, her heartbeat sputtering with their last, gasping breaths. There was pain, followed by a horrible, all-consuming emptiness. 

“No…” Iris barely managed to say. There was a burning at the corner of her eyes, and she shut them as a sob racked her, covering her face with her free hand. 

Even sitting still, she experienced the sensation of falling—down, down—through a bottomless pit at an alarming speed. Iris couldn’t hear what Gladio said next, the phone slipping from her hand. 

An indeterminable amount of time passed. 

When she could finally move again, she reached for the piece of paper still on her nightstand. Smoothing it out once more, she read the letter, now a goodbye that would never reach the ears of its intended recipient. 

_ Dear Noctis, _

_I’m writing this down so I will one day have the courage to tell you this in person. Ever since I met you,_ _I have wanted to be by your side. I didn’t understand it at first, but when I heard you were supposed to marry Luna, I knew I could finally put a name to what I was feeling__. _

_ Maybe it seems silly, and maybe you will never return the love I have for you, but I have decided its _ _ worse to live in a world without you in it than one where you don’t love me back. _

_ You will always be the prince of my heart. I __wanted _ _ to tell you _ _ how I felt _ _ sooner, but there was never a good time, and now that you’re gone, __I’m afraid I’ll never get the chance. _

_ Please come home safely. The world needs you—and so do I. _

_ Iris _

Iris felt her own distant remarks haunting her now. They were ringing in her ears, and she couldn’t handle it. She had stood tall for so long—smiled even when she wanted to cry—and now her words, written ten years prior, were a weapon to be used against her. They broke down every last defense, pulverizing them into dust. 

Noctis would never get to listen to her written confession, and Iris was left standing, caught in a hell she had created. The only thing that reminded her she was still alive was her heartbeat, rapidly beating like a bird trapped inside her ribcage. 

Iris closed her eyes, opened her mouth—and screamed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _ Heartbeat_ by Vérité
> 
> Dark, distant remarks (are calling)  
To remind me what we are  
Dim romantic sparks  
We all fall down  
So we can all cover our eyes  
From explosions in the skies  
Can you feel them burning?  
Can't you feel the earth tilt?  

> 
> Can you feel my heartbeat?  
Pounding into nothing  
Broken bones are floating  
In my empty body  
Can you feel it reaching?  
Moving through the feeling  
Won't you bring me down?  
Won't you bring me down to size  

> 
> Dark, distant remarks (are calling)  
To remind me what we are  
Something I can't handle  
(Most of the time)  
And I know it's a surprise  
How tall I stand sometimes  
But I've written my goodbyes  
On a folded napkin  
Slipped inside your pocket  
Before you left me standing  
I knew you weren't listening  

> 
> Can you feel my heartbeat?  
Pounding into nothing  
Broken bones are floating  
In my empty body  
Can you feel it reaching?  
Moving through the feeling  
Won't you bring me down?  
Won't you bring me down to size  



	2. Mindless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis Scientia is good with his daggers. What started out as a mindless way to relieve stress during his high school years proves to be very useful indeed. For day two of Inktober, "Mindless."
> 
> _With the flick of his wrist, a dagger was in Ignis’s hand, summoned from the depths of the magical armiger privy to him through his bond with the Prince of Lucis. Soundlessly, his arm reared back, muscles tensing from shoulder to hand. There was a swing, a swoosh of air as Ignis threw the knife with all his might, the weapon whirling in a perfect arc, tip over handle, until it collided with the living room wall._
> 
> No archive warnings apply, for general audiences.

Ignis knows exactly when it started. He was sixteen, and the paint had barely dried on the walls of his Crown-issued apartment. It had been raining—he remembered how gray and dark his kitchen had felt, even under the fluorescent lighting. His hand, still damp from getting caught in the summer storm, held his cell phone tight, partially so he wouldn’t lose hold of it, but mostly out of anger.

“You can do better, Ignis. After all this time—honestly! What would your father think?” his uncle’s voice bit into Ignis’s chest like a daemon’s fangs, intent on ripping through the boy’s flesh. “Second best isn’t the Scientia way. You serve His Majesty, and His Majesty deserves only your best. Never forget that. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir.” Outwardly, Ignis was calm. His training wouldn’t permit him to be otherwise—but inwardly his heart raced and his knuckles continued to clench, making the metal and plastic in his hand creak and groan in protest.

“Good. See to it that you do.” The phone cut off, the silence like a slap across his face.

Ignis stood rigid, adrenaline coursing through his lithe body with no outlet for his rage—for his shame.

What happened next was inevitable and reactionary—mindless, one might say. Energy cannot be created or destroyed, only redirected, and at that moment the energy inside young Ignis Scientia wanted _out_.

With the flick of his wrist, a dagger was in Ignis’s hand, summoned from the depths of the magical armiger privy to him through his bond with the Prince of Lucis. Soundlessly, his arm reared back, muscles tensing from shoulder to hand. There was a swing, a _swoosh_ of air as Ignis threw the knife with all his might, the weapon whirling in a perfect arc, tip over handle, until it collided with the living room wall.

A _thwang _sounded as the blade wobbled like a seesaw, but it stayed firmly embedded in the wall and Ignis observed the spider-crack of paint its impact had made. The only other noise in the room came from the teenager’s forced exhale, which he made before walking over to retrieve his weapon, now feeling a little foolish for his child-like outburst.

Throwing the dagger hadn’t solved anything, but he found that he felt marginally better. After some consideration, which mostly involved running his fingers idly over his blade, Ignis walked back into the kitchen and turned, closing one eye to line up the indentation in the wall with his elbow. Holding his weapon from the tip, he reared back once more, and let the blade fly.

* * *

Ignis got a piece of art to cover up the marred paint. He could have had someone come and fix it, of course, but that would have required some explaining that he wasn’t ready to do. Besides, he found that the _Astrals in Repose _suited his living room well, and was long enough and wide enough that no one would know what lay beneath it.

It was another rainy afternoon when the mood struck him again. He had been helping Noctis study for finals, and the prince had been particularly surly about it.

“This is all pointless anyway. I’m the prince, when I am going to need to remember this? Isn’t that what I have _you_ for, Specs?”

Ignis had forced a smile, gathered his things, and left in a hurry.

Now, he found himself standing on tip-toes to carefully remove the framed mural in his living room, setting it gently in the corner where it wouldn’t be in the line of fire. Then, counting his steps, he retreated to the kitchen, trying to remember where he had stood weeks before.

Summoning his daggers, he tossed one, then the other, not thinking too hard about where they would land. One went to the left of the original mark, the other to the right, one handle slightly up, the other down—indicating over rotation and under rotation respectively. Ignis pursed his lips, banished the weapons back into the armiger, and called them into his hands again—and again, and again.

Soon, he had a fresh row of indentations, the new cracks of paint like lightning strikes, jagged zig-zags that looked like a piece of modern art. Ignis pulled out his phone and began to make a list, adding _paint_ and _cork board_ to it. Feeling at ease, he returned to the _Astrals in Repose_, repositioning it to his satisfaction. Ifrit’s hooded gaze felt like a benediction.

* * *

Once Ignis was able to repair the wall himself and install a thick strip of corkboard behind the _Astrals in Repose_, the painting moved frequently from one side of the room to the other, and the sound of knives whistling through the air became a sort of meditative melody inside the apartment. Ignis was able to mark several places on his kitchen tile that he knew would achieve the perfect amount of rotation, and he would throw daggers at any time of day, smiling with satisfaction when they sank into the bullseyes of the targets he had drawn, handle parallel to the floor.

He could be cooking, or cleaning, and sometimes was even on the phone or sitting at the counter working on reports when he would pull one blade from the ether, throwing it idly.

_Thwip—thud!_

Ignis’s accuracy grew so that, on most days, he didn’t even need to look to land several bullseyes in quick succession. His Crownsguard training improved as a result, which was an unanticipated bonus of the stress-relieving activity.

He began to experiment once he was comfortable—tossing while making quick turns, as he was walking or running, at an angle, with two daggers at once—and his skill continued to grow, until Ignis was confident he could land a knife in anything with perfect precision from no matter where he happened to be in the apartment.

* * *

It was during a training session with Noctis and Gladio when it finally happened. In a sense, Ignis knew it had to. Noctis had grown comfortable with Ignis as his advisor and friend, and as a new high school graduate, he was feeling like he was on top of the world—invincible. Combine that with his royal status and he was, to put it mildly, absolutely infuriating.

Ignis and Gladio had decided a good sparring match might be warranted to knock the prince back down to reality, but the advisor and Shield had underestimated just how well they had instructed the young heir in the martial arts. The older boys danced around Noctis with their training weapons as the prince warped in and out of reach, and the three were working up a sweat without landing a single blow, an elaborate game of cat and mouse with the roles seeming to reverse at a moment’s notice.

Biding his time, Ignis searched for an opening, or a pattern in Noctis’s behavior that he could exploit, but he could feel Gladio beside him getting impatient. It was ultimately his friend’s frustration that would be their downfall, as Gladio launched a reckless swing at Noctis, leaving his side open to attack.

Noctis took the opportunity, as he had been taught, and warped within range, digging his wooden blade into the Shield’s ribs and knocking him off balance. Air rushing from his lungs, Gladio staggered, and Ignis overcorrected to avoid being rammed into.

In the second it took for Ignis to trip and tilt sideways, Noctis moved again, and Ignis froze as he caught himself, the tip of Noctis’s practice sword wedging beneath his Adam’s apple. The prince grinned.

“Gotcha, Iggy.”

Gladio was groaning, righting himself from where he had been sprawled on the floor.

“Better luck next time,” Noctis declared smugly, and he stepped away, turning to walk towards the exit.

“We’re not done here,” Ignis replied tightly.

“Oh, I think we are. Obviously, you two have met your match,” he retorted, cocky and overconfident. There was silence, save for Noctis’s footsteps on the hardwood, and the prince approached the double doors that would lead out of the training hall and into the Citadel proper, when—

_Thud-thud!_

Noctis looked down, stunned to find the fabric of his jacket sleeves suddenly pinned to the oak doors by two knives, each within centimeters of where his hands currently grasped the doors’ handles. It took some creative maneuvering to remove the blades without ripping his clothes, but when he finally managed it, he turned back around, holding Ignis’s twin daggers aloft in disbelief.

Ignis was standing with his hands in his pockets, an eyebrow arched expectantly. Gladio, also upright, was staring at the tactician in blatant amazement, mouth open.

“How the hell…?” Noctis didn’t finish the question, and Ignis smiled.

“Shall we go again, Your Highness?” It didn’t require an answer.

Returning the smile nervously, Noctis walked back over to where his two retainers were waiting. “I won’t go easy on you this time,” he exclaimed, trying to restore some of the confidence he had lost from Ignis’s surprising display of skill.

Ignis, calling his daggers to him, took on a battle stance and actually _smirked_. “I would expect nothing less from the future King of Lucis.”

Gladio chuckled, hoisting his own weapon up with both hands. “You’re in for it now, princess.”


	3. Bait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis is taking part in his favorite pastime and drags his boyfriend Prompto along. 
> 
> _“How do you think people knew what lures to make for different fish? Trial and error?”_
> 
> Some soft Promptis for day three. No archive warnings apply, general audiences.

Prompto let his feet dangle over the dock, toes occasionally swishing across the water below and sending droplets up to catch the edge of his rolled pants’ legs. Noctis sat beside him, strangely focused while appearing totally relaxed. In his element, one might say. Prompto was in his element, too, except that happened to be equal combinations of bored and fidgety.

“When do you think you’ll be done?” Prompto wondered for what seemed like the umpteenth time. He checked his phone. It had only been ten minutes since he had asked last, but it had seemed like hours.

“I’m gonna catch a big one soon, I can feel it,” Nocitis muttered without turning his head. Prompto heaved a little sigh and flopped onto his back, staring at the fluffy clouds that drifted through the midday sky while listening to the faint buzz of inspects and croak of frogs nearby.

“How do you _know_ you’ll catch something big? We could go _all_ day and not have a single fish bite.” _Kinda like now_, Prompto wanted to add, but he refrained—if only barely—and only because Noctis was his best friend _plus_. (Best friend plus seemed cooler than boyfriend in his mind.)

“I just _know_. It’s instinct. That, and that old fisherman gave me a good lure.”

Prompto cocked his head, tracing the outline of a cloud that looked like a giant dragon with one finger. His follow up question to Noctis’s statement came a few minutes later.

“How do you think people knew what lures to make for different fish? Trial and error?”

Noctis shoulders went up and down again in quick succession. “I dunno, the same way hunters know how to bait daemons, I guess. Years of studying and all that.” The answer sparked something in Prompto’s brain, and he began to chase the train of thought, grinning to himself.

Prompto sounded proud of himself when he spoke next. “I know what I’d use to catch you.”

“Oh yeah?” Noctis reeled in slightly on the line, angling his rod to one side. “What, your charm and good looks?” the prince teased.

“Well, yeah, that.” Prompto’s flush went largely unnoticed by his companion, and he cleared his throat before continuing. “Actually, I was thinking a nice, soft bed.”

“With you in it?” Noctis drawled.

“_Dude_.” Prompto kicked one leg out, a barefoot colliding with the outside of Noctis’s knee lightly.

“You’re right. You’d get me no problem—hook, line, and sinker,” Noctis confirmed without protest, and Prompto beamed, eyes panning back up and into the distance.

“Hmm…what do you think we’d have to use for Gladio?” There was barely a second of silence before they chorused in unison:

“Cup Noodles.” The two immediately cackled at their confirmed suspicions.

“Cup Noodles and _big_ swords,” Prompto wheezed through his continued laughter.

“The bigger the better,” Noctis said suggestively, sending them into another fit of giggles. The vibrations of their bodies on the wooden planks sent small ripples into the water below.

“And Iggy?” Prompto inquired, rubbing tears of laughter from the corners of his eyes.

Noctis was quiet for a moment as he thought, chuckles fading. “He’s a little trickier, but…probably a farmer’s market?”

“He can’t resist the opportunity to—” Prompto did his best impression of a Tenebraean accent, “—come up with a new recipeh.” Noctis snorted.

“Or, you know, I could just pick all the vegetables out of my food and he’d come running."

Prompto placed his hands behind his head, a new cloud formation catching his eye. “True story.”

Silence lulled comfortably, the sun’s rays warm on Prompto’s face. He closed his eyes, only opening them when a shadow fell across their lids a moment later. Noctis had turned, pole still in hand, partially bending over Prompto.

“W-what?” Prompto squeaked, clasping his hands more firmly together beneath Noctis's lazy smile. His heart was doing that annoying thing where it thudded into his ribcage, like a fish flopping on dry land. 

“How’d I catch you, huh?”

Prompto blinked comically at the inquiry, finding himself reflected in Noctis’s cloud-gray eyes. Noctis looked back expectantly, affording him more patience than he did most.

Prompto had to think, and he couldn’t do that with Noctis staring at him, so his eyes redirected his gaze over his shoulder and into the space beyond. 

“Uh…” Prompto’s mind was as blank and empty as the clouds he had been studying mere minutes earlier.

“Gee, thanks,” Noctis retorted with a roll of his eyes. When he made a move to resume fishing, Prompto jerked into a seated position, moving so quickly that he almost knocked heads with the prince. “Hey—!”

Prompto’s fingers wrapped around Noctis’s arm, gripping tight amidst his yelp. “Everything.”

“Everything?” Noctis echoed, equally amused and intrigued.

“Everything.” Prompto rolled the word across his tongue a second time, thoughts catching in his throat and squeezing out clumsily. “You’re—easy.”

“Easy?” Noctis’s eyebrows shot up, disappearing into his hairline.

Prompto gesticulated vaguely, as if trying to grab at some invisible lifeline. “Not—like _that_.” A pause. “You’re easy to be around. I can—I don’t know—be my dorky self. I can tell you that cloud looks like the back of Gladio’s head, and you won’t laugh at me.” One eyebrow on Noctis's face relaxed, the other still arched skeptically, gaze darting upwards to peer at the cloud in question. “Okay, maybe you’ll _laugh_, but it won’t be mean. It’ll be…” More clouds distracted Prompto then, and the words started to string together. “_Soft_, and kind, and warm.”

Noctis actually set his fishing pole down, a miracle in and of itself, and gave Prompto his full attention. Prompto crisscrossed his legs, blood rushing into his freckled cheeks and turning them a brilliant red, but he couldn’t stop now that he had started.

“You liked me before _I_ liked me, you know? You taught me it was okay to rant to you about video games, or show you my weight loss progress selfies, or stay up late talking on the phone.” Blue eyes turned downwards as Prompto bit his lip. It was his turn to shrug helplessly, and Noctis’s hand found his.

When Prompto lifted his chin, Noctis was smiling. It wasn’t teasing, or smug—it was genuine, full of adoration.

“So, what you’re saying is…I used the best bait possible, huh? Charms and good looks just wouldn’t cut it for you?”

Prompto sniffed at that, curling fingertips into the back of Noctis's knuckles. “Not a chance. Had to be…” He trailed off, afraid to say it out loud in case it would ruin the moment. Noctis’s head tilted questioningly, and when Prompto tried to pull away, he resisted, yanking Prompto closer, their mouths meeting.

The kiss was sweet and simple—_easy_, just as Prompto had described. Being with Noctis was as natural as breathing; something Prompto didn’t have to think about too hard (and hoped he never had to). When their lips slid apart, they rested their foreheads together, not quite ready to put distance between them so soon.

“Had to be love,” Noctis said, a whisper on the wind.

Heart in his throat, Prompto nodded fervently, blond and black hair intermingling. “Am I a good catch?” Prompto joked to lighten the mood, finally sitting back. Their hands remained clasped between them, an anchor.

“My biggest one yet—until I capture the legendary Liege of the Lake, that is.” Noctis’s lip curled up at the edge when Prompto bumped their shoulders together, snickering.

It was quiet for some time, neither of them moving. Eventually, Noctis squinted up through the sunshine, pointing to a large fluffy cloud along the horizon.

“That one _does_ kinda look like Gladio.”

Prompto laughed, turning to give Noctis a quick peck on the cheek.

“I love you.”

[ ](https://ibb.co/Rzk5HvN)

[ ](https://ibb.co/BzzcckD)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First fanart by @justicedoesdraw on Twitter!
> 
> Second fanart by @MysteriousBean5 (tumblr) @CarrieVogel5 (Twitter)!


	4. Freeze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis and Prompto have a conversation about what sparked Prompto's interest and love for photography.
> 
> _“Now? It’s like…freezing moments in time.” Prompto swallowed, surprised at how hard his emotions hit him out of the blue. “Because a lot can happen, you know? And I want to remember all of the good things for as long as I can.” _
> 
> I blame MysteriousBean for sending me on a Promptis streak, but I'm not sorry about it. I love these idiots. No archive warnings apply, for general audiences.

The sun had just slipped behind the mountains, and its dying rays combined with the campfire’s glow provided just enough light to see by. Prompto had just kicked off his boots before sinking into his camping chair at the haven, his camera in his lap. It was the first time he had sat down all day, and he had every intention of enjoying it. 

Ignis and Gladio had gone off together—something about being in sore need of a bath and spying a stream nearby—although Prompto could guess a little bit of alone time was more than warranted for the two. The four of them had been out in the wilderness for a while now, and spending every night crammed together in a tent was making tensions run a little higher than usual. Even the best of friends needed their space sometimes.

Prompto began to flip through the pictures he had taken that day, the bright light from the screen illuminating his face, and he became so enthralled in his task that he didn’t register the sound of footsteps behind him.

“What are you up to?”

Prompto, giggling over a picture he had snapped of Noctis getting knocked on his ass by a voretooth, missed the question entirely.

“Hey, Prom?” A hand waved in front of Prompto’s face and he blinked, arching his head back until an upside-down Noctis came into view above him.

“Huh?”

The prince chuckled before pulling up a chair beside the blond, bringing it close enough that their knees touched. Noctis leaned in, peeking at the picture Prompto had pulled up.

“Gods, you _caught_ that? You better delete it,” Noctis groaned, and Prompto shook his head, swatting at Noctis’s hand as it reached for the camera.

“Not a chance, dude. Someday, these pictures are going to be worth a buttload of gil.”

“Who’s gonna buy ‘em?” Noctis demanded. Prompto shrugged, not answering right away. He flipped through a few more pictures, happiness flooding him when the prince rested his head on the blond’s shoulder.

“_I’d_ buy ‘em,” Prompto said, and his nose scrunched up when Noctis nuzzled beneath his chin, the prince’s lips brushing over the pulse in his neck briefly.

“_You’re_ biased.”

“And you’re stupidly photogenic, even if you are a prince.” They both laughed, and the two settled against each other, warmed outside by the fire, and inside by their mutually shared affection.

“What got you into photography anyway? You were always that kid with the camera in middle school, but I never really asked,” Noctis admitted, straightening a little as Prompto stopped on a photo at the four of them at their last rest stop. They were all smiles, and Prompto had a peace sign held up, head tilted towards Noctis, while Ignis and Gladio bunched together beside them.

It was a good one.

Prompto sat back as he thought, glancing up at the stars that were just beginning to become visible in the night sky. “I guess…it was a good activity to do on my own. My parents weren’t around much when I was younger, and I didn’t have many friends, so I needed something to fill the time. Then I sorta used it as a diary, a catalogue of places I had been, things I had seen.”

“And now?” Noctis urged. His hand rested on Prompto’s forearm, fingers mindlessly tracing designs as he connected the freckles on the blond’s skin. 

“Now? It’s like…freezing moments in time.” Prompto swallowed, surprised at how hard his emotions hit him out of the blue. “Because a lot can happen, you know? And I want to remember all of the good things for as long as I can.” The photographer thumbed across his right wrist idly, covered by the leather glove he wore. It was a bad habit of his whenever he was feeling anxious. Noctis, recognizing the nervous tic, took Prompto’s hand in his and squeezed.

“I’m right here, you know,” the prince reminded him, bumping their shoulders together.

Prompto laughed, but it was forced, not reaching his eyes. “Sorry, didn’t mean to get all sappy on you there. I just get this feeling that I’m running out of time, and I don’t want to miss anything, you know?”

“Yeah, I get that.”

They both looked at the stars then, and Prompto put his camera aside, one hand still held by Noctis.

“You know, there are other ways to remember things—not just pictures. Smells, music…” Noctis trailed off, and Prompto glanced over at him curiously. “…actions.”

Prompto blinked slow, and Noctis finally met his gaze, eyes reflecting the light from the fire as they burned with a new intensity. The photographer’s breath caught, and he flushed, grateful for the darkness that helped to hide it. He looked away. 

“I want to remember everything, too, but if you keep living in the past, you’re going to miss what’s in front of you, Prom,” the prince explained, speaking softly.

Prompto snorted, kicking at Noctis with one barefoot. “Dude, you actually sounded like a prince just then—where’s all this coming from?” 

Noctis answered, but it wasn’t in the way Prompto expected. In one smooth movement, he pulled Prompto out of his chair and into his lap, nearly tipping their camping chair over. “H-hey!” Prompto yelped, but Noctis silenced him with a kiss, long and firm, a tongue flitting over the blond’s lips. “Mmph—” Prompto closed his eyes and melted into the embrace.

When it ended a few seconds later, Noctis rested his forehead on Prompto’s, the ghost of smile still on his face. “Do you think you’ll need a photo to remember this?” he mused, teasingly.

“That’s not fair,” Prompto whined. “You know I’m not going to forget _you_.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Prompto, arms resting around Noctis’s neck, rolled his eyes. “Dude, are you being for real right now?”

“Humor me.”

Huffing, face as red as the fire that blazed beside them, Prompto muttered: “Because—I _love _you.”

Noctis grinned, arms tightening around Prompto before kissing him again—and again, and again. Prompto committed the image to memory, and for a moment, without the use of his camera, the world stopped.

[](https://ibb.co/0ytgvzJ)   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanart by @JusticeDoesDraw on Twitter


	5. Build

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In other words, THAT rooftop scene, like it _should_ have gone--because Prompto and Noctis deserve eachother, damn it. 
> 
> _“Yeah, well,” a nervous laugh came from Prompto, and he slapped a hand over the back of his neck. “Dude—you lost everything when Insomnia fell. We lost everything, and I…” he inhaled shakily. “I can’t do anything. Not for Ignis or Gladio, and not for you. I’m useless. I always have been.”_
> 
> No archive warnings—fluffy as cotton candy with a sprinkling of angst—general audiences, and obviously, Promptis.

Not all buildings are made of stone. Not all structures can be touched. When it comes to matters of the heart, one can build grand palaces inside themselves to house their dreams and desires, doors thrown open for anyone to walk through and enjoy. Others may create mazes for a daring soul to try and traverse, winding endlessly through corridors, reaching dead ends of self-doubt and fear. Mostly though, people build walls.

No one can say exactly when they start building them. Maybe it’s the first time they hear a harsh word, thrown at them unexpectedly. It hurts—so they start stacking up metaphorical bricks on the foundation of their self, something to hide behind. Or maybe, the walls are already there when they’re born, and they have to decide whether to keep building them higher, or to break them down—to let people in. Perhaps, more troubling still, they have no choice but to build them, only to have them destroyed, repeating the process in an endless cycle until death relieves them of their duties, of life’s burden.

* * *

Noctis found Prompto on top of the motel. He wasn’t sure what Prompto’s thing with rooftops was, but he found him there whenever they happened to stop to sleep in a place with four walls, so often now that it was always where Noctis went looking first if he was in search of the sharpshooter.

“Hey,” Noctis greeted, speaking less out of need, and more so that he wouldn’t startle his friend.

Prompto was perched at the edge of the building, feet dangling in empty air, and he was watching as cars drove by—twin dots of red and white in the dark. Prompto’s head jerked up from where he had been lost in thought, and Noctis took in the orange glow that the motel’s neon sign cast across the blond’s face, making him look like something out of a dream.

Noctis came to sit beside him, and their shoulders touched, leather jacket crinkling with the movement.

“Heya,” Prompto replied, more subdued than usual.

“What’s up?” Noctis wondered. Usually, Prompto was outgoing and cheerful, never without a smile on his face or a joke on his tongue—but Noctis had learned something about Prompto over the years they had spent together in high school.

It was an act.

“Oh, nothing much.” Prompto swung his feet a little faster, body rocking back and forth as he bit down on his lip. He wouldn’t meet Noctis’s gaze.

“C’mon Prompto, this is me you’re talking to,” Noctis said. “You’ve been quiet since Galdin,” he pointed out.

A single brick fell, unnoticed by either of them.

“Yeah, well,” a nervous laugh came from Prompto, and he slapped a hand over the back of his neck. “Dude—you lost everything when Insomnia fell. _We_ lost everything, and I…” he inhaled shakily. “I can’t do anything. Not for Ignis or Gladio, and not for you. I’m useless. I always have been.”

“Whoa, whoa!” Noctis protested, waving his hands indignantly. His throat went tight at the reminder of the gaping hole that ached in each of them, a fresh wound that they all still struggled to bandage, blood seeping from it whenever the slightest pressure was applied.

They were all hurting, and Noctis wanted to kick himself for not noticing Prompto’s pain sooner.

“Prompto, you’re not useless.” There was a ragged inhale as Prompto shook his head. _Yeah, right_, it said. But Noctis wasn’t about to let him off that easily. “Prompto, look at me,” Noctis pleaded. Slowly, reluctantly, his friend did. “You’re _not_ useless.”

Even in the lowlight, the agony in Prompto’s blue eyes was as clear as day. Noctis felt a sharp pang wedge itself between his lungs, and like the twisting of a knife, it spread through his chest, impossible to ignore.

Prompto looked away and down again, shoulders slumping. “Ignis…he’s smart, and he can cook, and knows something about everything and anything. Gladio—he’s strong, and good with people—he can protect you from just about any daemon out there. But me? When your dad died, I couldn’t even think of what to say to you. How to comfort you. And I realized I’m not any of the things Ignis or Gladio are. I’m a _nobody_, and all I’m doing is slowing you and everyone else down.” They listened to the growl of a car engine as it rumbled past, kicking up dust, neither of them speaking for a moment.

“You’d be better off without me,” Prompto murmured. Noctis’s gut reaction to the statement was so strong that he choked on what he wanted to say, hand shooting out to grip Prompto’s forearm tightly. Prompto flinched, staring down at it like a snake that might bite him. Noctis relaxed it slightly, but didn’t pull away.

“Prompto…” Noctis finally managed to say. “You’re my _best_ friend. I couldn’t do any of this without you.”

“But, I—”

“Stop,” the prince interrupted. His tone was surprisingly firm, commanding even, and Prompto bit off the rest of the sentence, quieting. “I don’t _want_ to do any of this without you.”

Prompto’s eyes went wide with wonder when he saw Noctis’s shoulders tremble, a sob racking them. A few more bricks crumbled then, a hole forming. The wall was losing its structural integrity, unbeknownst to them.

“You really are an idiot sometimes,” Noctis sputtered, wiping at his tears furiously with his free hand. “So _what_ if you’re not as smart or as strong as Gladio? You’re _you_, Prompto.” Prompto clasped his hands between his knees, trying hard not to cry. After he had regained some semblance of control over his emotions, Noctis took a deep breath and continued. “Back in high school, did you ever bother to think of why I didn’t hang out with anyone else?

Prompto hadn’t, but he did now, and his mind came up blank. “Uh…”

“Everyone wanted to be my friend for one reason, and one reason only—because I was the prince. But _you_? You never once treated me any different from anybody else.” Prompto leaned back, eyes panning up to the night sky as he considered it. “I could be myself. You teased me for liking fishing so much, and you kicked my ass in King’s Knight without thinking twice, and you’d text me at one am with your stupid theories—”

Prompto laughed loudly, and Noctis grinned, heart fluttering at the sound. “Listen, I stand behind the idea that Gladio waxes. There’s _no_ way that’s natural.”

It took a few minutes before they could breathe again, laughter echoing around them. It chipped away at what remained of the barrier that had somehow been erected between them, and soon they were seeing eye-to-eye, Noctis’s smile making Prompto feel lighter than he had in days.

“What I’m trying to say is—you’re important by just being _you_. And _I_ need you, okay? That should be enough.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Prompto agreed, more than a little bashfully. He flopped onto his back, pulling his knees up so that his feet were planted firmly on the roof. Noctis joined him, a comfortable silence falling across them like a blanket.

“Oh—a shooting star!” the sharpshooter exclaimed. “Make a wish!”

“Hmm,” Noctis hummed. “All right, done.”

“Me too.”

Noctis turned his head, the sound prompting the blond to do the same. They were close enough that their noses brushed, but to Prompto’s surprise, Noctis didn’t pull away—and neither did he.

“What’d you wish for?” Noctis whispered. The prince’s breath moved a golden tuft of hair across Prompto’s cheek, tickling him. 

“Can’t tell—or it won’t come true,” Prompto murmured back weakly, heart skipping a beat. Noctis scanned him, lips opening slightly. Prompto held his breath as Noctis closed his eyes, going as still as a statue as the prince closed the remaining space between them.

_***_

Kisses are strange things, and Prompto hadn’t really understood their appeal up until that moment. Two mouths pressing together? Whoever thought _that_ was romantic? Not him.

But Noctis’s lips were surprisingly soft, and when they met Prompto’s own, it was like a stick of dynamite went off inside him, shaking him to his core.

The wall, which had begun to lean, unstable and shaky, was obliterated by it. And when the dust settled, and the two opened their eyes again, Prompto realized he never wanted to hide behind it again—not if it meant separating himself from Noctis.

“Did your wish come true?” Noctis wondered, and there was a hopeful vulnerability to the question. (Prompto would come to realize later that the Prince of Lucis had been looking for _his_ approval—and he would melt all over again.)

“Yeah—I think so,” Prompto replied. His voice broke and they laughed again, the nervousness ebbing a little as their fingers intertwined, resting between them.

_I wish that Noctis and I will have a chance to rebuild Insomnia—together. _

[](https://ibb.co/VDLnnbY)  
[](https://ibb.co/N3w9bhR)  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanart by @JusticeDoesDraw on Twitter


	6. Husky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My brain went to dumb places on this one, so enjoy the comedic shit storm that is my mind. The boys play a drinking game on one random night in the caravan.
> 
> _“Ah yes, the letter H. I suppose I will return to favor. Let’s describe our dear Gladiolus.” The Shield made a kissing sound in Ignis’s direction, lips pursed. Ignis, being the most mature out of all of them, kicked the leg of Gladio’s chair without even looking, putting the Shield on his ass faster than any of them could blink._  
  
No archive warnings apply, for general audiences. Hints of Promptis and Gladnis, and a healthy helping of laughs.

The laughter shook the thin walls of the caravan, and Prompto, a little dizzy from all the alcohol he had already consumed, fell against Noctis, their heads bumping together. Ignis, perched on the edge of the bench seat across from them, took a sip of his beer and smiled slyly, glancing over at where Gladio was still boisterously laughing. The Shield leaned back in the chair he had placed in the aisle, hands clasping behind his head.

“All right, all right,” Gladio boomed. “Letter G. One minute. For the topic, I pick—Ignis,” he decided, grinning. There was a chorus of whoops from Noctis and Prompto as they flopped back on the thin bed, dangerously close to smacking against the wall behind them as they did so. Ignis took a long sip of his beverage, draining it.

“I suppose I need another drink first,” Ignis declared, standing to shimmy past Gladio and grab another beer from the fridge. Not caring to be subtle, the Shield squeezed Ignis’s ass, earning a swat from the advisor.

Noctis shook his head, then hiccupped. “Hey—none of that!”

Gladio wiggled his eyebrows tauntingly.

“Oh—I’ll start the timer,” Prompto giggled as he fumbled for his phone. Noctis had his arms wrapped tightly around the blond, making it so Prompto had to squirm to reach it. “Hey—let me—get—”

“I’ll grab it for you, Prom,” Noctis teased, finger snaking into Prompto’s pants’ pocket.

“Hey, none of that,” Gladio barked, echoing the prince’s words as Ignis made his return, the tactician only stumbling a little as he moved past Gladio again.

Somehow, the two drunken twenty-year-olds succeeded in procuring Prompto’s phone and setting the timer.

“On your mark then, Prompto,” Ignis said, opening his bottle. Everyone straightened as Prompto let his finger hover over the start button.

“Okay—and—_go!_”

“Genius,” Noctis said confidently, starting them off.

“Gorgeous,” Gladio grinned, and Ignis snorted.

“Glad,” Ignis contributed with another swallow of his beer.

“Uh…oh, oh!—graceful!” Prompto crowed. Ignis lifted his glass in appreciation.

“Gentleman.”

Gladio gave a nod, impressed. “Nice one, Noct. Hm, gay?” Ignis’s smile was terrifyingly polite.

“Very _good_.”

“I see what you did there—is that a yes?” Gladio shot back. Ignis shrugged.

“Hush, I’m thinking,” the prince hissed, tapping one finger against his beer bottle thoughtfully.

“Fifteen seconds!” Prompto announced, frantic.

“Okay…gymnast.” All eyes were suddenly trained on the sharpshooter, and Prompto’s eyes widened like an anak in headlights.

“Shit,” Prompto looked up at the ceiling. “Um—uh—” The seconds ticked away until—

The timer sounded, screeching insistently as Prompto groaned. “Me _again_? This game is rigged!” the blond whined.

“Drink up, loser,” Noctis chortled.

“Here, here.” Ignis smiled again as Prompto did as he was told, chugging the entire drink as his friends looked on. There were cheers when he finished, and Noctis hopped up, twirling to avoid falling over.

“Allow me. You’re going to need another one for the next round,” the prince claimed. His back was turned to Prompto leaning into the aisle, flipping him the bird. Gladio chuckled loudly.

“Iggy, you wanna do the honors?” the Shield asked. 

“Ah yes, the letter H. I suppose I will return to favor. Let’s describe our dear Gladiolus.” The Shield made a kissing sound in Ignis’s direction, lips pursed. Ignis, being the most mature out of all of them, kicked the leg of Gladio’s chair without even looking, putting the Shield on his ass faster than any of them could blink.

“Ouch—all right, I deserved that one.” They waited until Gladio had righted himself before starting the clock for the next round. This time, Ignis gave the first descriptor.

“Handsome.”

Gladio scooted closer to Ignis. “Aw, see Iggy, I knew you were—”

“Stop wasting time,” Noctis interrupted, glaring.

Gladio’s head whipped in Noctis’s direction, unperturbed. “All right then, princess—_huge_.”

“Huge head you mean?” Noctis quipped with a dead pan expression.

“You could say that.” Gladio’s smirk stretched from ear-to-ear.

Prompto, a little flustered, pulled his knees into his chest. “Heroic?”

“Careful, his head is going to get even bigger,” Ignis commented dryly. “Helpful.”

“Hot.”

“I object,” Noctis groaned.

“Objection overruled,” Ignis replied calmly.

“You’re biased!” the prince said, and Prompto glanced at his phone nervously.

“Noct—”

“Fine, fine—hilarious.” The sarcasm seeped through Noctis’s clenched teeth, and Gladio made a lewd gesture in reply. Noctis sat against the wall and took several swigs of his own beer as he sulked.

“Huggable.” Prompto was kinda proud of that one, and no one protested.

Ignis had to think a little harder now, but still managed to pull through. “Hard-working.”

“Ten seconds,” Prompto squeaked, already dreading what he knew was coming.

“Heavyweight,” Gladio blurted.

Noctis didn’t hesitate. “Human.”

“Lame,” the Shield scoffed. Prompto, watching the timer near zero, began to panic.

_3—2—1—_

“Husky!” Prompto yelled, fist pumping into the air. There was a split second of stunned silence before the alarm went off, noise climbing as they all began rolling with laughter.

“Husky? What is he, a _dog_?” Noctis was in tears, sides aching as he struggled to breathe.

“A very loyal one,” Ignis snickered.

“C’mere Prompto, I’ll show you husky.” Gladio was on his feet, dragging the blond by the ankles onto the floor.

“No, no, no!” Prompto giggled, throwing hands up in meager protest as the Shield yanked his tank top up and leaned down, blowing a raspberry on the smaller man’s toned stomach. The sharpshooter screamed, limbs spazzing, and the laughter intensified. “Hey—_hey_!” he said breathlessly. “I won! So all you fuckers better drink.”

“It’s only fair, I suppose,” Ignis conceded, finishing his beer off willingly. Noctis and Gladio did the same, still fighting off fits of giggles. “Prompto, you have the letter I, my dear,” Ignis reminded him once they had all settled down and returned to their seats.

Prompto, idiotically giddy and imbibed with beer, let his head loll onto Noctis’s shoulder, immortalizing the moment in his mind.

“I choose…” 

[ ](https://ibb.co/2y7NP2j)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanart by @JusticeDoesDraw on Twitter


	7. Enchanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis finds himself in a bit of a predicament. It's Prince(ss?!) Noctis to the rescue!
> 
> _“Do it.” Noctis gapes up at Gladio, thinking he’s still joking, but the Shield’s expression is deadly serious._
> 
> _“No,” Noctis snaps, past the stage of annoyance. “This isn’t a fairytale, this is real life!” He turns to Prompto for backup, but the blonde has his face in his hands, eyes wide and expectant._
> 
> _“You have to do it, Noct. Frognis needs you!” the blonde insists._
> 
> Fluffy comedy is good for my soul, especially whenever these four are involved. No archive warnings apply, for general audiences.

Three heads press together, a wild tangle of brunette, blonde, and black locks. Amber, blue, and gray eyes blink in comical tandem as they stare at the frog at their feet. Somehow it manages to sound indignant as it croaks, and Noctis bends to scoop it up carefully, palms held parallel to each other in order to create a tiny platform for it to perch on.

Prompto’s head tilts, arms crossing in his confusion. “Shouldn’t he have turned back by now? Do we need to try and swing by an outpost or something for a remedy?” 

“Nah, he’ll transform eventually,” Gladio says, the most confident of the three of them. “Besides, we already have a maiden to kiss him if necessary,” he quips. Noctis glares, and the only reason he doesn’t flip his overly large and grinning friend off is because his hands are full of precious, albeit slimy, cargo. Somehow, even the frog manages to look annoyed as it watches Gladio with unblinking eyes.

“Not funny,” the prince huffs.

Prompto snickers. “Okay, maybe it’s a _little_ funny.” The creature in the prince’s hands croaks again, inspiring a fresh fit of giggles from the sharpshooter and Shield. Noctis, rolling his eyes, stomps away, cradling the amphibian close to his chest.

“Hurry up, or I’m leaving you both,” he mutters. Prompto rushes to catch up to where Noctis is already several paces ahead while Gladio slips his hands into his pockets and trails them at a leisurely pace, still wearing a shit-eating grin.

“Do it for Ignis, princess!” he calls after Noctis. This time, the prince takes the time to shift the frog into one hand so he can hold his middle finger in the air, not looking over his shoulder as he approaches the roadside where the Regalia is parked. Gladio chuckles good-naturedly, maintaining his relaxed pace, and they all climb into the car, Noctis in the driver’s seat.

Frog-Ignis is awarded the front passenger seat, and neither Prompto nor Gladio protest the seating arrangements. Every so often the frog makes a noise, probably to indicate Noctis is taking a turn too fast or riding too hard on the brakes, and the prince glances at the small green blob out of the corner of his eye.

“And here I thought your nagging couldn’t get any worse,” the prince grumbles, sinking down in his seat. A series of ribbits is the reply, and Noctis can all but hear Ignis’s voice in his head—_Eyes forward, Highness._

* * *

It isn’t until night begins to fall and they are setting up camp that Noctis begins to worry. “Gladio…it’s been a few hours now. I hate to say it, but maybe Prompto’s right.” Noctis’s eyes pan over to where frog Ignis is partially hidden in a bowl of water, placed away from the fire, just outside their tent.

“Did you just say I was right? Can I get that in writing?” Prompto says from where he’s busy setting up their portable grill.

Gladio, hands on his hips, is peering down at the frog with a frown on his face, consternation making him bite his lip. “Hmm.” It’s not a yes, and it’s not a no, but Noctis knows Gladio can be reluctant to admit he’s wrong, and he waits.

“Maybe you _should_ try kissing him.” Prompto flops into a camping chair, laughing, and his eyes dart between his best friend and frog Ignis suggestively.

“Not that again,” Noctis groans, and he will never admit that the thought did briefly cross his mind.

“Yeah, use your magic powers for good,” Gladio urges, picking up the bowl so he can look into the frog’s beady black eyes. The Shield’s frown deepens in concentration, as if he’s trying to read Ignis’s mind to come up with a solution.

“I’m not going to—” Noctis jerks back as Gladio suddenly turns, shoving the bowl into his face, water splashing.

“Do it.” Noctis gapes up at Gladio, thinking he’s still joking, but the Shield’s expression is deadly serious.

“_No_,” Noctis snaps, past the stage of annoyance. “This isn’t a fairytale, this is real life!” He turns to Prompto for backup, but the blonde has his face in his hands, eyes wide and expectant.

“You have to do it, Noct. Frognis _needs_ you!” the blonde insists.

“Prompto!” Noctis’s protest is a groan-growl, stretching the o’s in his friend’s name. 

“Come on, princess. We won’t know until you try.” Seeing that Gladio and Prompto aren’t going to give up on their idiotic theory, Noctis sighs heavily, taking the bowl from where Gladio is still holding it outstretched. He surveys the frog that is floating in the liquid, limbs splayed and heart visibly pulsing in its chest.

“Fine—but then we’re going to buy a remedy.” Closing his eyes, Noctis purses his lips, bending to brush them lightly atop of the frog’s head.

Noctis is not expecting anything to happen, so when something _does_—with a puff of green smoke that makes him choke—he is woefully unprepared for the sudden weight in his arms, pitching forward with an embarrassing shout as he tumbles out of his chair and onto the hard ground. When the air clears, everyone sputtering and Noctis rubbing at a bruise that he feels forming on one knee, his eyes widen to see Ignis—_human_ Ignis—beneath him.

The prince and his advisor lock eyes, a stunned silence falling over the haven. Then there is a snort, followed by a giggle, and everyone except Noctis is laughing hysterically, the prince’s face slowly changing from its usual milky white to pink, to red, and finally to dark crimson as his mouth hangs open in disbelief.

“Guess you _are_ a princess after all, huh, Noct?” Gladio jeers, trying to catch his breath in the process. Prompto has his hands on his knees, and sweet Six, he’s actually _crying_.

The initial shock quickly fading, Noctis rights himself, brushing the dirt off his pant legs as Prompto walks over (still clutching his sides from laughing so hard) to extend a hand to Ignis. Grateful, Ignis takes it and gets to his feet gracefully, looking down at himself as if to make sure he truly is a person and a frog no longer. Meanwhile, Noctis is covering his face with one hand, still burning with embarrassment, all eyes turning towards him.

Ignis manages to sound completely at ease when he speaks, ignoring the cackling to either side of him. “Thank you for that, Highness.”

“Y-yeah, sure, no problem,” Noctis mutters, now finding the ground the most interesting thing he’s seen all day.

Prompto is finally able to breathe in without bursting into another round of laughter, and asks, “Hey, so does this mean we can bottle Noctis’s saliva and use it as a Maiden’s Kiss?”

“_Hey_!” the prince objects without anything to back it up. All he knows is that he’s _not okay_ with this plan. Ignis puts a hand to his chin thoughtfully.

“Perhaps we _should_ look into it. It might prove useful in the future.”

“That’s it, I’m out of here,” Noctis seethes, throwing his hands up. He turns to stomp off, disappearing over the ledge of the haven.

“Aw, come on buddy, we’re only teasing!” Prompto calls out. Gladio huffs, then shrugs.

“Let him go,” the Shield insists, but Prompto is already running after the surly prince, attempting to placate him. Ignis and Gladio watch as the two disappear into the night, voices rising and falling in a steady back-and-forth. When the conversation finally fades, Gladio looks over at Ignis slyly and extends one hand, palm up.

Ignis exhales evenly, reaching into his pocket to pull out a handful of gil and a golden bangle inlaid with green stones that glow ominously in the dark. “Is 500 what we agreed upon?” the advisor confirms before handing the items over. Gladio doesn’t bother to count it, shoving it into inner jacket pocket with a nod.

“Wanna go for round two when he gets back?” Gladio offers, grinning mischievously.

“I’ll bet 1,000 gil that he won’t kiss you.”

Gladio slaps a hand over his heart and pretends to stagger. “Ouch, Iggy, that’s cold.” Ignis’s neutral expression doesn’t waver though, and Gladio chuckles, shaking his head.

“Fine, you’re on,” he ultimately agrees, watching as Ignis walks over to the grill and begins fiddling with the nobs.

Gladio sinks into a camping chair and pulls out a book, content to let Ignis do his thing. It doesn’t take long before the smell of cooking meat fills the air and Gladio hums in appreciation, glancing over. “What’s for dinner?”

“Frog legs?” Ignis suggests innocently. Gladio’s laugh is booming, rattling in his chest. “Too soon?” he wonders as the laughter continues, floating up and away, over the silhouette of the treetops and towards the stars.

[ ](https://ibb.co/LxK962Q)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanart by MysteriousBean, @CarrieVogel5 (Twitter) & @MysteriousBean5 (Tumblr)


	8. Frail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A subversion of the prompt--the last word anyone would use to describe Cindy Aurum is "frail," but some people have to learn the hard way. 
> 
> _“500?” the man laughed as he took yet another step closer, invading the woman’s personal space. “How ‘bout 400? I can throw in something extra for you to make up for it, sweetheart.”_
> 
> No archive warnings apply, for general audiences. A little bit of grit and grease.

Cid sat back in the lawn chair to avoid the midday sun creeping around the umbrella he was situated under. Hammerhead was buzzing with activity, the recent uptick in nice weather drawing more tourists south from the Crown City down to Galdin Quay. Vacationers and hunters alike were milling about, in and out of Takka’s diner and the convenience store, and by extension, around the shop.

He enjoyed people watching. It was a welcome change from the life he once led, although sometimes he longed for the good ol’ days—the open road, only the clothes on his back and his friends at his side…

“Sorry, it’s gonna be 500 gil,” he heard a honey-sweet voice say. Cid’s eyes panned over to where Cindy was leaning against a car, the paint faded and weather worn. It had seen better days, just like him, he thought. A fine-looking gentleman stood close to the blonde mechanic Cid lovingly claimed as his granddaughter, the customer looming over her in what anyone else would interpret as an intimidating gesture.

“500?” the man laughed as he took yet another step closer, invading the woman’s personal space. “How ‘bout 400? I can throw in something extra for you to make up for it, sweetheart.”

Cid could only shake his head, sipping at his sweet tea. _Oh, this’ll be good._

Cindy’s smile was tight despite her relaxed stance. “Sorry darlin’, no can do. This girl’s gotta eat, and you’ve gotta get on your way, don’t ya?”

Cid observed the way the man stiffened, obviously irritated by the rejection. “500 is too much.” The tone was flat, dangerous. “C’mon girl, give me a break.”

“Give you a break?” Cindy placed both hands on her hips, and this time she let her irritation show. “You waltz in here, demanding my time, eyeing me like meat on a skewer, sayin’ you got _places to be_. So, what do I do? I get this ol’ jalopy fixed up in an hour flat—any other place would’a jerked you around for three hours, charged you 2000 gil, and sent you on your way. And _now_ you’re coming on to me like a fly on a dualhorn carcass and you got the _audacity_ to ask for _me_ to give you a break?”

Cindy’s voice was raising, drawing attention from passersby. The man took one wary step back as the woman’s eyes flashed, her hand grasping the wrench hanging from her tool belt threateningly. “You got any other requests, mister? Because time is money and my flat rate is 800 gil an hour—which I didn’t even charge ya, by the way. Oh, and don’t think I didn’t catch you snapping pictures of my ass while I was working. If you want, I could call up some hunter friends of mine to show you some good ‘ol Leiden hospitality.”

When Cid chuckled, it was loud enough to draw the man’s eye away from the angry mechanic, but if he was looking for backup he was barking up the wrong tree. Cid’s grin wasn’t at all friendly, and the patron gulped, finding himself cornered. 

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I didn’t mean any offense,” he blubbered, hands raised as if he were afraid Cindy might lunge at him. Cid had seen that happen—once or twice—and nodded his approval as the man seemed to shrink.

Cindy relaxed her hold on her tool, arms folding. “600 gil, and I’ll throw in a wash for this tin can.”

“S-sure,” the man stuttered, hand scrambling to find his wallet. The exchange was over in under a minute, and once it was complete, the man hurried away like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, disappearing into Takka’s Diner. Cindy heaved a sigh, shoving the money into a pocket attached to her belt before making her way over to where Cid was patiently waiting.

She plopped into a chair, removing her trucker hat to run a hand through her messy hair, and Cid smiled at the grease he spied along her chin. “Sorry you had to see that, Paw Paw,” she apologized.

“No need to apologize,” Cid said. “You ain’t frail like this old man. I know you can handle yourself,” he said, smiling warmly in reassurance.

“I learned from the best,” Cindy agreed. She planted a chaste kiss on Cid’s cheek before getting up again—never one for sitting still for too long. The man’s smile stayed firmly planted as she vanished back inside the garage, the sound of a drill whirring a short time later.

Cid _had_ worried, once. When Cindy was younger—how could he not? She was stunning, a bombshell in blue jeans and a t-shirt. Even a blind man could see that. _Got it from her mama_, he always said—all sunshine and sugar. It was impossible to ignore the looks she got, and oh lord, the _comments_. Those were the worst. For a long time, business suffered, Cid chasing away every man who happened by.

Cindy had always helped around the shop, fetching things here and there, but Cid had been reluctant to let her actually work on the cars. He found her one night—_She was what? Thirteen?—_working under the hood of his ol’ Stingray in the dark, with only a flashlight and a wrench. That’s when he knew that he was fighting against the tide.

“I can do this, Paw Paw,” she had insisted stubbornly. _That_ she had gotten from him. _Can’t tell that girl nothin’. She makes her own path. _

He had loosened the reins, taught her a thing or two. _You can’t protect ‘em forever_. Reggie had taught him that. It was a lesson he was still learning.

Now? It was _her_ shop, and he was just along for the ride. She wasn’t his little girl anymore, although she would _always_ be his little girl. And he was damn proud.

“Excuse me, sir? I need to get a new tire. I’ve got a flat,” someone said, interrupting Cid’s reminiscing. Turning towards the man who had snuck up on him, Cid nodded in the direction of the garage.

“You’ll have to talk to my granddaughter, Cindy, she runs the show around these parts.”

When the man frowned, not bothering to hide his skepticism, Cid arched an eyebrow as if in challenge. “Make sure you ask nicely, won’t ya? She’s already dealt with one asshole today. If you’re lucky, she might go easy on you—and if not,” Cid shrugged, “then it’s a mighty fine day for a walk.”


	9. Swing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One rainy day, the Crownsguard receives an unexpected visit from a young boy with nothing on him except the clothes on his back. 
> 
> _The captain was calculating amidst the shouts, finally planting his feet. His small opponent did the same, sword held out in front of him with the comfort of an experienced fighter. The child’s arms didn’t quiver despite the weight of his blade._ He’s no ordinary kid. 
> 
> No archive warnings apply, general audiences. Mild violence.

It was a miserably rainy afternoon when he showed up.

The skies were dark enough that it could have been midnight, a deluge of water drowning out the heavy breathing of the soldiers who were currently sparring beneath the overhangs of the circular courtyard, water in the puddles they danced in and out of it creating waves with every sure-footed step.

No one noticed him at first. Why would they? He was small—_scrawny_, really—with closely shorn brown hair and sunken eyes, wearing clothes that barely hung to his slender frame, tattered and dirty from travel. He could have just crawled out of Insomnia’s sewer for all anyone knew.

The captain was the first to notice the boy that leaned against the pillar, blending into the shadows as if he were more comfortable in them than the light. He observed how the child’s eyes followed the movement of the Crownsguard members. It was similar to a hawk, circling as it rose steadily on a summer breeze—patient and powerful. It was that _look_ that made the man pause, forgetting momentarily that no child of that size should have any business in the barracks of His Majesty’s guard.

“Hey!” the captain grunted, mouth finally catching up to his brain. The boy turned, and the kid’s gaze was like the edge of the sword, making the man inhale sharply. He kicked himself for the feeling of trepidation that took hold in his gut. He was more than thee times the child’s size, and undoubtedly his age. There was no reason for him to feel uneasy, and yet… “What are you doing here?” the soldier demanded, loud enough that a few of the Crownsguard paused in their training to turn, necks craning to see who the question was directed at.

The street urchin’s answer cut through the downpour. “I’m here to join the Crownsguard.”

More people were stopping now, the sight of the young boy drawing more interest. The captain could only laugh at the absurdity of what he had just heard.

“Run along and play, little boy. This isn’t a daycare.” The man said, accompanied by a chorus of laughs.

“If you’re scared, just say so.”

No one was laughing now, the captain’s eyebrows drawing down into a heavy frown. “Get out of here, brat. I won’t say it again.” The Crownsguard had abandoned their drills completely and were drawing in closer to listen, forming a semi-circle around the stranger. The boy pressed himself off the pillar he had been leaning against, a wicked grin making him look like a daemon in the dim light. A shiver crawled down the captain’s spine, igniting a spark of anger in his chest.

“Why don’t you make me?” the boy drawled, arms crossed over his chest as if he belonged there, comfortable and confident.

_Who the hell does this kid think he is, anyway?_

“Make light work of this rat, captain,” one solider jeered, and soon others were offering similar words of encouragement, a chant growing. All the while, the stranger’s eyes never left the captain’s face, chin lifting to catch the flame of a nearby lamp.

The captain reached for the sword at his belt on instinct, pulse quickening uncharacteristically. There was something unsettling about the look in the child’s eyes, something beyond his years.

_He has no fear—no, that’s not it…what then?_

“Are you going to make me fight barehanded?” the child questioned innocently, showing his palms like a card dealer would to indicate they had nothing up their sleeves. A fellow soldier was quick to offer his blade, laughing at how it was nearly half the size of its new wielder.

The captain watched at how the boy lifted the weapon, inspecting it from every angle and shifting it between his hands before nodding in approval. “This will do, I guess.” There were snickers, the audience now completely enthralled by the unwelcome interruption to their day, but the captain still wore a frown, fingers twitching where they were curled around the hilt of his sword.

“Let’s get this over with,” he barked. Soldiers made room, cheering as the two began to circle one another.

“Is this kid for real?” someone snorted.

“Crush him, captain!”

“Send him crying to his mommy,” another yelled.

The captain was calculating amidst the shouts, finally planting his feet. His small opponent did the same, sword held out in front of him with the comfort of an experienced fighter. The child’s arms didn’t quiver despite the weight of his blade.

_He’s no ordinary kid. _

Taking a deep breath, the captain prepared to make his move. The group held their collective breath in anticipation, and then—

The swing came fast. All the man could do was react as another attack came screaming towards his head. He ducked, slipping on the smooth cobblestone, pain exploding in his backside as he fell. Stray hairs caught by the sword’s edge floated down like snow, a reminder of how close he had been to losing his head.

Before a groan could escape the man, he felt a pinprick against the tender skin along his throat. Swallowing hard, he went still, going cross-eyed as he stared down the blade nestled beneath his Adam’s apple.

The only sound was the falling rain, a violent drumbeat in time with his heart.

“Holy shit,” someone finally whispered. The child stepped back, sheathing the sword in his fraying belt. It dragged on the ground, eliciting a metallic protest.

Resisting the urge to rub at his neck nervously, the captain eased himself into a seated position, wincing at the bruises he could already feel forming.

“What’s your name kid?” he finally asked, defeated in body and spirit.

The child—no, the young man—stuck his chest out, eyes blazing with the strength of his conviction. 

“Cor Leonis.”

The soldier saw it then, the way the shadows hugged the newcomer like a cloak, drawn to his inexplicable gravity, and the answer came to him.

_No, he’s not fearless. He has a death wish._

The captain’s shiver was more pronounced this time. “Well Cor Leonis, my name is Clarus Amicitia,” he said, getting to his feet. “And there’s someone I think you need to meet.” Clarus extended his hand to the boy, a show of good faith. Cor eyed it suspiciously before taking it, squeezing with a strength that no longer surprised the Captain of the Crownsguard. Soldiers hurried to get out of the way as Clarus began to lead the stranger away, steering him out of the training grounds and in the direction of the Citadel.

They didn’t speak until they reached the ornate double doors, and Cor paused, neck craning to take in the enormous structure that sat at the heart of Insomnia. Clarus chuckled, holding one door open to allow the child access.

“I have to ask—how old _are_ you?”

“Does it matter?” Cor deflected as he stepped inside. Clothing now soaked through, the boy shivered, and Clarus noted how he could see Cor’s ribs through a tear in the side of his shirt. The captain’s lips pursed slightly in disapproval, but he didn’t comment.

“I need to mentally prepare myself when I tell King Mors,” Clarus admitted, and he laughed when Cor blinked in surprise.

After a moment’s hesitation, Cor replied: “Thirteen.”

“Thirteen?” Clarus’s eyebrows shot up.

“Is that a problem?” Cor growled, defensive. The captain shook his head. He couldn’t believe he was about to suggest that the King of Lucis accept a thirteen-year-old boy into the Crownsguard, and Prince Regis would undoubtedly never let him live it down, but Cor’s talent was undeniable.

“Not a problem, per se.” He opened his mouth to say more, but ultimately decided against it. It would be easier to show than tell.

The two walked side-by-side, Cor half a step ahead as if he were the one leading instead of the other way around. Even as they approached the throne room, the boy didn’t slow, entering the grand chamber as if he had lived there his entire life.

Clarus realized he had been tricked. Cor didn’t need a weapon at all. Every swing of his arms was like the slash of a blade, a warning to any who might get too close.

_Sweet Six, I hope I don’t live to regret this_, Clarus thought.


	10. Pattern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis finds Prompto working on something late at night, and manages to convince his boyfriend to come to bed. 
> 
> _Noctis fixes his pale blue eyes on him, smiling reassuringly. “Your freckles. They make patterns, you know. I’ve been trying to memorize them, but you hardly sit still long enough.”_
> 
> I hope you're not tired of Promptis--because there's probably a lot more to come. No archive warnings apply, maybe teen and up for this one only for bed sharing in their underwear, but there is nothing explicit in this fic (hope you're not too disappointed).

Prompto stretches in his chair, fingers splaying as his arms shoot overhead. He yawns, glances over at the clock, and does a double take, nearly toppling backwards. The blond manages to catch himself—just barely. _Two in the morning already?_ Rubbing his eyes, he presses one cheek into his hand and sighs, staring down at the blank page as if willing words to appear. _Why is writing so hard?_

“What’cha doing?” The question, spoken so softly it might as well have been a whisper, is like an air horn to Prompto’s mind. Yelping, he kicks backwards and goes sideways, body picking up the momentum from his surprise and carrying him all the way to the ground with an loud crash.

“Ow!” he whines, rubbing the back of his head where it smacked the hardwood. Peering through watering eyes, he finds Noctis standing over him, smirking in amusement. “It’s not nice to laugh,” Prompto pouts.

“I’m not laughing,” Noctis insists. The prince fights hard to keep his smirk from becoming a grin, and nearly fails, but is victorious at the last moment. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” With that simple admission, he scoops Prompto up as if he were light as a feather—and he nearly is, clad in only his boxer briefs.

Prompto turns towards him, realizes he’s also minimally dressed, and pauses, noting the prince’s hands resting comfortably on his hips. “Were you waiting for me?” the blond wonders, more than a little guiltily.

“No, of course not.” Noctis pauses. “I think I’m just used to having you next to me.”

_That_ sends butterflies fluttering in Prompto’s stomach, and he smiles shyly, thankful that the lamp on his desk isn’t strong enough to show his signature blush. Noctis probably could recognize it in the dark _and_ blindfolded though, because he doesn’t hold back his grin now.

With gentle fingers, Noctis begins to pull Prompto towards the bed mere feet away. Laughing good naturedly, Prompto reaches back for his notebook, snagging it before sinking onto the mattress, nestled comfortably between Noctis’s legs, back to the prince’s chest. Noctis rest his chin on Prompto’s shoulder, anchoring them both.

“So…what _are_ you working on?” Noctis asks, repeating his original question.

“Hmm,” Prompto hums. “It’s a secret,” he answers evasively. Noctis presses a spontaneous kiss against Prompto’s neck.

“It’s not nice to keep secrets from your boyfriend.”

_Boyfriend_—another round of butterflies, a little more vigorous in their fluttering this go-round, spur Prompto’s heart into a frenzy. He giggles, ducking his head when Noctis tickles his cheek with his long eyelashes. Noctis snorts at the reaction, amused.

“What if the secret is a surprise for said boyfriend?” Prompto shoots back, and he makes a show of hiding the page from Noctis when the prince tries to sneak a peek. The blond groans. “Nooooct.”

“All right, all right.” Noctis lifts his hands as if to surrender, only to snap them back down against Prompto’s waist suddenly, fingers wriggling. There is a shriek of laughter as Prompto flails to escape the tickling, limbs shooting out unpredictably so that his notebook and pencil go flying. Noctis’s reaction time is quick however, and he manages to pin Prompto’s wrists, sliding on top of him to squeeze his torso into stillness with his knees. When Prompto finally catches his breath, he glares up at Noctis, even as his eyes smile.

“No fair!”

“Can you work on it in the morning?” Noctis loosens his hold, eyes panning down Prompto’s chest suggestively. There’s no hiding the blond’s blush this time.

“Yeah, okay,” Prompto sighs. He doesn’t tell Noctis that he’s been trying to write the letter for weeks in anticipation of the prince’s upcoming birthday, but he figures one more day of procrastination won’t hurt.

It’s hard to put into words how much Noctis means to him, and maybe, he’ll never succeed. Somehow, he’s okay with that.

Noctis has grown quiet, a finger tracing idly from the tip of Prompto’s shoulder down his chest. The blond arches an eyebrow inquisitively. “What’s up?” he prods. “You’re making me nervous.” Anytime Noctis goes quiet while looking at him, Prompto’s anxiety spikes, but he’s getting better at communicating it. Sometimes he still can’t believe that someone finds him attractive—especially someone like Noctis, who could rightfully have his pick of just about anyone.

Noctis fixes his pale blue eyes on him, smiling reassuringly. “Your freckles. They make patterns, you know. I’ve been trying to memorize them, but you hardly sit still long enough.”

The blush deepens, and Prompto cranes his neck, trying to see. Noctis taps a spot above Prompto’s left hip bone as the blond sits up a little, causing his abdomen to flex. “See? This one here, kinda looks like an arc. Like a shooting star.”

“Huh.” Prompto tilts his head, and he can kind of see what Noctis is talking about.

Noctis wriggles down Prompto’s body, bringing his head lower to brush his lips beneath his boyfriend’s belly button. Prompto goes very, _very _still and holds his breath, praying he doesn’t pass out as he swallows what would be an otherwise embarrassing whimper.

“These—” Noctis loops one finger beneath the band of Prompto’s underwear and lifts up so Prompto feels his body twitch in anticipation. “I think looks like a feather.” Prompto squints, head cocking in the opposite direction now.

“Oh. _Oh_!” He nods fervently. _Wow, he’s_ _right_.

Noctis methodically makes his way down Prompto’s legs, pointing out the patterns as he goes. There, on Prompto’s knee, a lopsided smiley face, and on his calf, an arrow. He comes back up when he runs out of skin, caressing with gentle attention as Prompto watches in wonder. Noctis gives shape to at least a dozen more freckled constellations—on a wrist, an elbow, the back of his neck, his face.

Noctis has Prompto turn on his stomach so he can connect the dots on his lower back. “You’ll have to trust me on this one, but these make me think of wings.” When Noctis presses a kiss to the base of Prompto’s spine, the blond shivers, toes curling.

Eventually, the prince gets up to turn out the light, and they come together beneath the covers, Prompto’s head resting on Noctis’s chest. He closes his eyes as Noctis pulls fingers through his hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp.

“You’ve really memorized them all, huh?” Prompto asks, already half-asleep, but awake enough to be in awe.

“Well, yeah,” Noctis murmurs. “They’re unique to you. What sort of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t?”

Prompto doesn’t remember drifting off, but when he wakes up, Noctis is still holding him, one arm loosely looped around his waist. Unentangling himself slowly, he pads over to where his notebook was discarded on the floor and retrieves it, running one hand through his bedhead before sitting at his desk. He begins to write, words now flowing freely.

_Noct—_

_You’ve traced the patterns on my skin, but now, let me tell you about the ones you’ve left on my heart… _

He glances over to where Noctis remains fast asleep, mouth parted and oblivious to the waking world, and Prompto smiles. 

[ ](https://ibb.co/frR89fS)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanart by @MysteriousBean5 (Tumblr) / @CarrieVogel5 (Twitter)


	11. Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I cheated and used a scene from my fic "The Long and Short of It All" that I wanted to expand on a little bit. The bros play in the snow together.
> 
> _“You have snow on your eyelashes, Specs.” Noctis’s cheeks were rosy from the cold, and Ignis found himself wishing he could drag the prince inside and warm him up properly—_perhaps later,_ he thought. “It looks good on you,” Noctis added, sitting up._
> 
> Implied OT4 with a focus on IgNoct, no archive warnings apply, appropriate for general audiences.

The world was varying shades of white, and in-between layers of ice there were soft blues, and grays, and stark _cleanness_, a purity so dazzling that it almost seemed a shame to disrupt it.

Prompto and Noctis were crouched behind the Regalia in the snow, carefully controlled breaths creating the smallest puffs, mini clouds that floated above their heads like empty speech bubbles. The prince gave the slightest nod and Prompto crawled on hands and knees, body weight leaving craters in the fresh powder. He peeked around one tire, blond hair curling from beneath his beanie, and waved back at Noctis, urging him forward. The prince followed his lead, joining his friend, and with all the care of practiced hunters, they rolled the white at their feet into compacted balls, one for each hand. Then they waited, holding air in their lungs.

Everything was still.

“Now!” Noctis suddenly hissed, and Prompto popped up, tossing one snowball straight across the lawn towards the corner of the house, aim sure and true. There was a flurry of movement as something dark bobbed over a thickly covered trash can, a barrage of snow flying back at Noctis and Prompto.

A flash of blue light blinded Prompto as the prince used one of his icy projectiles as a warp point, and Noctis ended up crossing the expanse to tackle an unsuspecting Gladio into a snow drift as the Shield came out of hiding.

There was a hoot as the two wrestled and rolled, tufts of precipitation swirling up like smoke. Prompto wasted no time in jumping in to help, tag teaming Gladio. The Shield bellowed as he get more snow shoved in his face, but Noctis recognized the sound of footsteps approaching even as he and Prompto got the upper hand and reared back to see Ignis somersaulting through the air, a snowball as large as his head held in his arms.

“Oh, _shit—_”

Noctis ate powder when Ignis brought the mound down for a staggering blow, and he fell backwards, sputtering and clawing ice from his mouth and eyes.

“Pfft—pleh—”

Prompto was cackling, thrashing from side to side as Gladio rolled over to pin the sharpshooter in-between his thighs. Ignis smacked his hands together, making a show of brushing off his gloves as he stood over Noctis, the prince’s face bright red from the sting of the wet cold that now covered his skin.

“Do you surrender, Your Highness?”

“You’ll never take me alive!” he laughed, grinning up at his advisor, arms and legs thrown out like a star fish. Ignis placed his hands on his hips, arching one slender eyebrow.

“Who says we want you alive?” Gladio grunted. The man had Prompto face down now, body weight squarely in the blond’s back, and Noctis looked over in amusement as Prompto kicked his legs, yelling muffled from where his head was submerged.

“As your advisor, I must insist that you concede and accept defeat.” Ignis managed to look serious, even as the corner of his lip twitched up into a smirk. He admired Noctis’s lazy smile and the crystalline flakes that clung to his dark eyelashes.

“You _do_ know best. I guess we have no choice.” Noctis tucked his hands behind his head in a show of nonchalant acceptance.

“Quitter!” Prompto gasped as Gladio sat back on his heels, allowing the sharpshooter’s head to jerk up. With a flourish, Ignis fell forward, hands coming to either side of Noctis’s head. At the last moment, he controlled his downward momentum as if he meant to do a push up, coming nose-to-nose with prince and hovering, an image of grace and strength.

Noctis blinked his cloudy eyes at him, unmoving, relishing in the warmth of Ignis’s breath over his frost-tinged cheeks.

“Consider yourself a prisoner of war.”

“What are you going to do with me now?” Noctis challenged, hands sliding down from his neck to rest on Ignis’s hips. Ignis finally lowered himself the rest of the way, pressing comfortably into the prince so that they sank another inch into the snow.

“Whatever I please.” Ignis murmured the answer through a kiss, and the two got lost in the moment, ignoring the sound of Prompto and Gladio struggling in the background.

“Guys? _Guuuuys_—Gladio, come _on_ man, you’re gonna break me!”

Prompto’s pleas went ignored as Noctis and Ignis continued, and for a minute, the world waited. It was nice—not having meetings to attend to, or emails to answer, or someone constantly watching their every move.

Ignis propped himself up on his elbows, shifting as if to get up, but Noctis grabbed him by his scarf, keeping the advisor from pulling away. All Ignis did was arch one eyebrow in question and Noctis couldn’t contain his smile. That smile could melt through six feet of snow, and it pulled Ignis back down for another kiss.

“Do you wanna build a snowman?” Noctis asked innocently. Prompto, who had barely managed to wriggle free of Gladio’s grasp, rushed over.

“Oh, oh—did someone say snowman? Hell yeah!” the blond crowed. 

“I’m down,” Gladio agreed. Outnumbered, but not opposed to begin with, Ignis nodded, sitting back on his heels to let Noctis up. Noctis didn’t budge though, lips still curved up at the edges.

“What is it?” Ignis inquired, tilting his head in question. When Noctis exhaled, his breath created a cloud that drifted up towards his advisor, vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.

“You have snow on your eyelashes, Specs.” Noctis’s cheeks were rosy from the cold, and Ignis found himself wishing he could drag the prince inside and warm him up properly—_perhaps later_, he thought. “It looks good on you,” Noctis added, sitting up. He held his hands out, and Ignis grasped them, leaning back and planting his feet so Noctis could use the leverage to stand.

They were almost eye to eye, and the prince took a step in, eliminating the remaining space between them. Gladio and Prompto were already busy rolling snow, kneeling so that their shoulders were touching, backs turned to Ignis and Noctis. Ignis couldn’t help but chuckle. It was rare for Noctis to act so affectionate outside the four walls of their town home, but he wasn’t about to complain.

There was something about the snow that made the world seem much smaller—more intimate—and he was grateful for the change of pace. Noctis rubbed his cold nose along the ridge of Ignis’s jaw, and the advisor’s eyes fluttered closed, snowflakes clumping in his eyelashes. They stood that way for a second, cheek to cheek, absorbing what little warmth they could from each other.

When they pulled away, Ignis could no longer feel the cold.

“Are you two gonna help or what?” Prompto pouted, tossing a lopsided snowball in their direction. It fell at Ignis’s feet and splattered, white spraying up like confetti.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re coming,” Noctis agreed, but he seemed reluctant now. Ignis, heart light, placed a hand on Noctis’s shoulder as the prince turned to survey Prompto and Gladio’s progress. They had already managed to form a sturdy base and were now working on the upper half of the snowman.

Noctis placed his hand on top of Ignis’s and squeezed before finally pulling away, and Ignis followed.


	12. Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto has a wild idea for a school project, and his best friend tags along for the ride.
> 
> _“Shh! You don’t want to wake him!” Prompto says. Noctis stares at his best friend in disbelief, thinking it is ironic that Prompto is the one shushing him. Then the prince gesticulates in the direction of the dark mountain in the middle of the ring. It rises and falls to the sound of an undulating rumble, which he belatedly realizes is the sound of it breathing._
> 
> No archives warnings apply, for general audiences.

Noctis glares at the blank document on his computer screen, very pointedly _not_ looking to his left. He taps idly at the keyboard, types a few words, then immediately erases them. All the while, the blob in his peripheral vision continues to get closer—and closer—and closer, until…

“_What_?” the prince groans, finally turning.

His best friend, Prompto Argentum, beams at him from where he has been impatiently waiting for the last five minutes, eyes twinkling mischievously as he scoots closer in his chair. Noctis has the passing thought that if he were a dog, the blond’s tail would be wagging excitedly.

“Hey Noct.” Noctis knows that tone all too well. It’s the, _I have a crazy idea that you’re gonna hate_ voice.

Noctis turns back to his term paper (which is due tomorrow—_rest in peace English grade), _sighs in defeat, and reluctantly shuts the lid to his laptop to give Prompto his full attention. He scans the library first though to see if anyone is in earshot. Thankfully, no one is, but he whispers anyway because it feels right—and it _is_ a library, after all.

“What?” he hisses.

“So, you know how I have my photography portfolio due on Friday?” he asks, not bothering to lower his voice. Noctis cringes at the look the librarian shoots them from across the room.

“Keep it down, would you?”

Prompto, unperturbed, presses on with his explanation. “Anyway, I was thinking, the circus is in town, right? And you’re royalty so you’d probably get in for free, maybe even get a VIP look of all the creatures, wouldn’t you?”

“Uh…” Noctis is too busy watching the librarian shake her head and shoot daggers with her eyes over the top of her horned-rimmed glances to give a proper response. He misses the next half of what Prompto says as she gets to her feet with a huff of annoyance, glancing back at Prompto with a panicky expression.

“_…_anyway, I’m going to need your help getting up close and personal, so whaddaya say?”

“All right, cool, whatever. Now let’s get out of here,” Noctis agrees. Grabbing Prompto by the wrist, he snatches up his laptop and drags them out of the path of the angry librarian, straight out the door and into downtown Insomnia.

* * *

“You have got to be kidding me,” Noctis says, for what he feels like the millionth time.

The first time he said it was when Prompto snuck into his room at the Citadel and woke him up at two in the freaking morning. _What are we paying these guards for?_ he wondered after he got over his initial shock (and apologized for punching Prompto in the face, but to be honest, he _deserved _it, damn it.)

The next time was when he realized where they were going. “To the circus? _Now?” _When Prompto said the prince could just warp them past the gates Noctis had nearly turned around and gone back to bed, but Prompto had given him those big puppy eyes and said—

“_Please_ Noct? You’ve gotta trust me on this one!”

And he did—and now he was regretting it, because not only had they managed to break into the arena where the circus was being housed, they had found themselves creeping through a maze of hallways in the dark, listening to the unidentifiable moans and groans of the beasts caged in windowless rooms, separated from them by thin partitions masquerading as walls.

“What are we even looking for?” Noctis had asked impatiently. Then, they had turned the corner and found themselves in a dimly lit arena, and Noctis’s answer was illuminated for him by ominous red emergency lights. Thus—

“You have got to be kidding me. _Prompto!_” Noctis whirls around and Prompto ducks as if he might get hit again.

“Shh! You don’t want to wake him!” Prompto says. Noctis stares at his best friend in disbelief, thinking it is ironic that Prompto is the one shushing _him_. Then the prince gesticulates in the direction of the dark mountain in the middle of the ring. It rises and falls to the sound of an undulating rumble, which he belatedly realizes is the sound of it breathing.

“What the hell is that?” the prince asks weakly.

“A dragon,” Prompto boasts, obviously proud of himself. “Well, technically it’s called a jabberwock, but—”

“A jabber_what_?”

“Jabberwock,” Prompto responds, and he has the gall to sound irritated.

“I can’t believe this. We’re leaving.” Noctis, mind made up, turns on his heel, but Prompto grabs him by the shirt and yanks him back.

“We’ve already come this far! Just _one_ picture, okay?”

Noctis glares up into the darkness as if wishing a daemon would materialize from it and put him out of his misery, but he decides he could never be that lucky. “Fine. _One_ picture,” the prince concedes. He watches as Prompto spins in an excited circle while clutching his camera—_Six_,_ he really is like a dog_—and then watches nervously as he creeps further into the room towards where the thing—the jabberwhatever—is sleeping.

“Hey, where are you going?” Noctis whispers, taking a tentative step after his friend before stopping.

“I’ve gotta get close if I’m only going to get one shot,” the photographer insists, continuing his methodical approach. Noctis crosses his arms and shifts from side-to-side, indignant.

_Nope_. _Not doing it._

His anxiety climbs as Prompto gets closer—and closer—and _closer_ to the unknown creature, until he can’t find Prompto inside its shadow.

“Prompto?” Noctis ventures, his voice getting lost inside the void that is the dark arena. _Shit._ “Prompto, not too close!” the prince pleads, now taking a few hasty strides into the ring. He can barely make out the outline of the blond kneeling dangerously close to what he imagines in the monster’s head. There is a sour scent that keeps wafting towards him in waves, timed between inhales and exhales, a low growl vibrating in the prince’s ears.

When the camera flashes, Noctis’s stomach drops. For a split section he actually _sees_ the dragon in all its glory, dark blue and green scales shimmering in the light, wings folded close to its sides. The jabberwock’s length taking up the majority of the prince’s view. It’s enormous, and also fascinatingly terrifying, and all the seventeen-year-old wants to do is turn tail and run, but Prompto is engrossed in the picture he has just taken and hasn’t given any indication that he’s ready to leave.

“Hmm…it’s a little blurry,” he comments.

“You said one,” Noctis protests, but he speaks softly and is too far away for Prompto to hear, so he resigns himself to waiting, the sinking feeling in his stomach intensifying when he thinks he sees shadows shifting in his peripheral vision.

The second flash is all the confirmation the prince needs, as it is reflected in two large eyes staring back at him, a pair of leathery wings lifting overhead to block out what little light is coming from the emergency exit signs. When the jabberwock bares its teeth, flames emerge, and Noctis’s blood runs cold despite the sudden spike in temperature.

“Prompto!” Noctis yells, but a roar drowns out his cry and he struggles to find his friend in the dark as the ground trembles, knocking him off his feet. “Prompto, where are you?” he shouts.

“H-here!”

Prompto runs straight into Noctis in his haste, and they both trip, scrambling over each other to escape the footfalls behind them that sound more like bombs detonating. Somehow, someway, they make it out of the arena, choosing not to look behind them as frustrated screeches and the sound of thick chains dragging rattle their bones until they can barely stand.

The two boys catch their breath in the hallway, listening to the snarling that eventually fades into a series of frustrated grunts and hisses. When the teenagers’ heartbeats finally turn from bass drums into snares, their eyes meet, and Prompto offers a sheepish grin as an apology.

“You owe me,” Noctis seethes, angry, but mostly just happy to be alive.

“You love me,” Prompto laughs.

Noctis rolls his eyes before grabbing Prompto by the elbow and marching him away from the jabberwock’s lair. “And you’re lucky that I do, or you would be dead,” he states. Prompto knows better than to argue, and he attempts to hide his giddy smile by ducking his head. Noctis doesn’t let go of him for their entire walk home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Noctis gets an F on his English paper and Prompto gets an A+ for his photography portfolio. When Prompto posts the jabberwock picture on social media (#jabberWHAT #almostdied #itwasworthit) it starts trending and the two get busted for breaking and entering. (#GROUNDEDFORLIFE #PAYINGROYALTIES)


	13. Ash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Took the poetry route for this prompt because it is my wedding anniversary and my wife has an MFA in Poetry. This one is for you, my love ♥️

_the winding road took us_

_away from home_

_destiny, a compass_

_rocked us like high tides_

_cresting and curving_

_waves hissing on asphalt _

_lulled us out into wilderness_

_burning a path_

_that no one was meant to follow_

_will they remember us _

_kings and queens_

_whisper our names to the dark_

_campfire light halo_

_endless expanse_

_where limits have no name_

_in shadows between stars_

_sleepless nights wake_

_giants of our own making_

_in rubble we find_

_ashes of memories_

_bones of daydreams_

_from them we build_

_a home without walls_

_a city without roads_


	14. Overgrown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The idea for this came from when my friend @wirefoxboys on Twitter sent me a news article headline that read "man accused of shoplifting but suspicious bulge in his trousers was just his 10in penis." We both agreed we could see this happening to Gladio, and I made a silly shitpost that took off, which then lead to, "wouldn't this be a hilarious fic to write?" 
> 
> This is my first two-part Inktober fic (because I meant to turn it into smut, but the buildup took longer than anticipated— ha). 
> 
> This ficlet is rated teen for some nudity and crude humor, and is for all the Promptio fans out there. Enjoy ;)

The last place you want to be on a Saturday night at three am is working in a 24-hour Quickie Mart in downtown Insomnia, but hey, college students gotta make that bank _somehow_, so Prompto Argentum rearranges the Ebony display once, then twice when he decides the uneven number of cans is throwing off the Feng Shui of the store. (Honestly, he’s just bored out of his mind and counting down the seconds, minutes, and hours until he gets off at 5 am.)

No one has come in since—he checks the clock on the wall—1:34 am. The shifty looking twenty-something bought a 12-pack of beer, a large bag of Chocochips, and a pregnancy test. Prompto gave the guy a sympathetic smile as he rung him up. He’s seen a weirder assortment of purchases, but it’s pretty much the highlight of his evening.

With the store being as dead as the college student feels inside, he figures he might as well start mopping the—count ‘em—_four_ aisles that make up the convenience store, hoping that his relief shows up at least a few minutes early so he can get some sleep before his shift at his second job at All-Mart. It’s when he is finishing cleaning the last aisle that he hears the tell-tale jingling of the front door opening, and he pauses mid-mop to peek over a shelf.

“Welcome to Quickie Mart, we’ll have you in and out in a jiffy,” he greets with lackluster enthusiasm.

The guy—who are we kidding, the _man_—who has just walked in towers over the short shelves (_gotta be at least 6’6’)_ and is wearing leather from head-to-toe, hair cut in the distinctive Glaive style, but looks too young to be in His Majesty’s military. Prompto tries not to stare, but there is something familiar about him, although he doesn’t believe he would ever forget someone who looked like a Galahdian behemoth.

“Hey there,” the shopper greets with a tired smile in a gravely bass tone. He has that perfect smile, the kind you see in toothpaste ads on TV, and a voice like those you hear on late-night radio talk shows, and Prompto momentarily forgets where he is and what he’s supposed to be doing—which is not act like a total freaking idiot in front of customers. When Prompto doesn’t answer right away, the guy continues about his business, perusing the first aisle with subdued interest.

_Get a grip, Prompto_, the employee chides internally. Setting the mop aside, he props up the ‘slippery when wet’ warning sign (which has a cactuar on it for some reason), and returns to his post behind the counter, all the while trying not to seem like he is looking too closely at the only other person in the entire store. Because he is—he most definitely is.

_I swear I’ve seen him before—but where?_ Those broad shoulders and chiseled jaw, the hint of a tattoo peeking over the tank top beneath his jacket—there is no way this guy is a total stranger, and it’s driving Prompto up a wall. If it wasn’t almost four in the morning, he might work up the courage to just ask him point blank, but that would be weird, wouldn’t it.

_Hey super-hot guy, haven’t we met somewhere before? No? Would you like to get better acquainted anyway? _

Prompto keeps his mouth shut and pretends to be busy organizing the items in the display behind the counter as he thinks. It’s a few minutes later, when he’s bent over, reaching for a box on the bottom shelf to rifle thorough when it hits him. He straightens up suddenly, whirls around and—

“Is this the largest size you have?”

“Ahh!” Prompto jumps back, yelping incoherently when he finds the customer directly in front of him where he wasn’t approximately five seconds ago—_how the hell is someone so big, so quiet?—_and his shock has him pressing back against the display of Marlboro cigarettes behind him as he tries to push his heart back down into his chest from where it is now lodged in his throat.

The man has one eyebrow arched in quiet amusement and is holding out a small box in question. Swallowing hard, Prompto shakily comes forward while attempting to look dignified, cocking his head to read the label: _Behemoth Condoms – XL. _

Maybe it’s the delirium that comes with being awake so late (early?) in the evening, or just the fact that Prompto has now figured out where he knows the customer from, probably a combination of both, but he can’t help himself; he laughs. At first, it’s just a snort, which then becomes a high-pitched giggle, but the employee finds that once he starts he can’t stop, and soon he is bent over, hands on knees, gasping for air as he cackles hysterically.

“Something funny?” the customer demands wryly as he sets the box aside. Prompto wipes the tears from his eyes as he struggles to become vertical, wheezing.

“Dude—you’ve got to be kidding me!” Prompto waves a hand at the guy in front of him, recalling their most recent encounter a few weeks ago. It had been on a night similar to this one, except he had been with a smaller friend at the time—black hair, also ridiculously good looking—and when they had tried to walk out (without buying anything, mind you), a box of condoms had slipped out from under his friend’s arm. _You gonna pay for that? _Prompto had seethed, only to have the two both walk out hurriedly, grumbling to each other under their breaths.

“Your boyfriend definitely doesn’t need anything bigger than extra-large,” Prompto says now, meeting the customer’s dead pan expression with one of his own.

“Actually, they’re for me, and yeah, I do.” He crosses his arms over his chest now, and _wow, those are some big guns_, Prompto thinks nervously, his current train of thought momentarily derailed.

A few seconds later, he manages to get the train back on the tracks. _Where was I? Oh yeah. _“Listen, mister—”

“Gladio,” he interrupts tightly.

“Mister Gladio,” Prompto continues, frowning. “A few weeks ago, you and your boyfriend—”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

Prompto rolls his eyes. “Okay, you and your _not_-boyfriend came in, tried to steal a box of condoms, and walked out. And now you _suddenly_ have the money for condoms, but these just-so-happen to not be the right size? What are you up to?” Without realizing it, Prompto mirrors the customer’s body language, arms crossing over chest—but if this is a gun show, Prompto’s are pistols, while Gladio’s are more like bazookas, and it undoubtedly is the least intimidating action he can take.

“Listen—” He squints at the name tag on the cashier’s shirt. “—Prompto, what my friend did was stupid, and I apologize for any trouble he caused, but it’s four in the fucking morning and all I want is to make sure I can get laid in the foreseeable future—safely. If that’s a problem, I can take my business somewhere else,” Gladio says tersely before giving Prompto a once-over. Prompto, who is busy scanning him from top-to-bottom, misses the appraising look Gladio gives him when the blond’s eyes stop at the area below his waistband, eyeing the sizable bulge he finds there.

When Prompto slowly meets Gladio’s eyes again, the customer’s expression has smoothed into a perfect poker face, betraying no emotion.

Prompto shakes his head in disbelief. “Your distraction tactics aren’t gonna work on me, buddy—I’m not stupid. You want me to believe you have some Iron Giant daemon dick so you can get away with stealing something—” The blond gestures vaguely towards Gladio’s crotch, making the man glance down. “—but this isn’t my first chocobo race, all right?” He begins to count off on his fingers, eyes drifting to the ceiling as he feels his face flush. “First of all, you’re _really_ good looking—like _wow_—so I doubt you have trouble getting laid.” Gladio does a slow nod, watching Prompto with a curious expression. “Second, you’re a big guy, but there’s no way you need anything bigger than extra-large. I mean, we don’t even _stock_ anything bigger than that so I’m pretty sure that’s not a thing. And _third…” _Prompto knows he had a third point, but it’s devoured by the predatory grin Gladio shoots at him as he unfolds his arms, the large man’s hands sliding to his hips. The blond sputters, words dying on his tongue.

Prompto stills as silence falls between them, holding as much air in his lungs as possible. Gladio never breaks eye contact with the store clerk as he places his hands on the counter and leans down and in, and Prompto flinches, but doesn’t pull away, entranced. 

When Gladio speaks next, his eyes are dancing with amusement, though slightly narrowed. “…let me get this straight. You think I’m asking you for bigger condoms so I can sneak something outta here in my pants?” He says each word slowly and succinctly as if relaying an order to a rookie subordinate, believing that Prompto is someone who clearly needs things spelled out for them.

Mouth having gone dry, all Prompto can do is nod, then watch with horror as the man straightens, chuckling as he reaches for the zipper on his pants.

Things seem to happen in slow motion then, Prompto’s face reddening even further as the realization of what is about to happen gradually dawns on him. “What are you…?” he begins to ask, even though he already knows the answer. There is the recognizable hiss of the metal links unclasping, and the rustle of leather creasing as Gladio reaches into his now opened pants, grunting as he pulls out—

“Oh. My—” Prompto strangles the noise that comes out of him by slapping both hands over his face, eyes widening from where they peer between his fingers until they feel like they might pop out of their sockets—_sweet fucking Six—_and although he wants to look away, awe intermingles with his horror and he finds that he simply can’t stop staring.

“Believe me now?” Gladio drawls, smirking as he observes Prompto’s reaction. Hands still covering his mouth, Prompto shakes his head emphatically ‘yes,’ swallowing hard.

“How—?” Prompto is only able to breathe when Gladio nonchalantly shoves his (Iron Giant daemon) dick back into hiding, exhaling noisily once it’s no longer in view.

“Every bit of ten inches.” The statement is sure and authoritative. Obviously, this guy has measured. 

“That’s, uh, rough, man.” _Words. Words, they’re a thing. _Prompto is wondering if he somehow fell asleep and is dreaming this entire encounter—if so, it’s the wildest dream he’s had in a while, and he sincerely hopes he remembers it when he wakes up.

“It can be,” Gladio agrees casually. “Other times, it’s pretty great.” When Prompto doesn’t respond, choosing instead to stare pointedly at the counter and not at Gladio’s face, the customer chuckles warmly. “If you wanna find out firsthand, give me a call.”

_…wait, what? _

Thinking there’s no way he heard him correctly, Prompto blinks rapidly, head jerking up to where Gladio is smiling at him, hand outstretched again, only this time there is a piece of paper in it. Unsure, the employee takes it, surveying the nine-digit number written in a scrawling script that is much neater than he would expect from such a rugged looking guy. 

Prompto is left to watch as Gladio turns, heading for the door, and he desperately tries to get his brain to revive itself from where it has flat-lined, but all of his thoughts have turned to static. Gladio is already half-way out of the store before he manages to blurt: “Wait!”

Pausing, Mr. Ten-inch-dick himself looks over his shoulder at Prompto expectantly, and the blond musters up every ounce of courage he has, clearing his throat. “Why would you think I would be interested?” He attempts to sound indignant, but it comes across more mortified.

Gladio is unapologetically smug. “I know a twink when I see one, blondie. G’night.” He keeps walking, letting the door slam shut on Prompto’s slack-jawed expression. It takes Prompto a full minute before he realizes his mouth is still hanging open, and he closes it with a snap.

No one else comes into the store until Prompto’s co-worker arrives to relieve him (at 5 am sharp). The two dance around each other silently, completing the necessary steps to seamlessly transfer responsibility from one employee to the next, and eventually Prompto comes to stand in front of the cashier, waiting to be formally dismissed.

“Anything else?” his co-worker, another glassy-eyed college student, asks without expecting anything substantial in the way of answers.

“Yeah, actually,” Prompto confirms nervously. The guy behind the counter gives him a look that says he wishes Prompto would have said no. “Put in an order for condoms—Behemoth Triple XL.” (A quick Moogle search had told him they were the largest size the brand sold.) His co-worker snorts, eyebrows furrowing skeptically.

“_Why_? And is that even a thing?”

Prompto tries to act casual as he begins to walk away, but he is moving a little too fast to convince anyone that he has any semblance of chill. The other employee studies him with thinly veiled scrutiny, and Prompto answers as he slips out the door: “Customer request—and trust me, it’s a thing.”

**[To be continued in Inktober Day 15: Legend]**

[](https://ibb.co/48zfgrv)


	15. Legend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a continuation from Day 14: Overgrown. Did I just write nearly 3,000 words of Promptio smut for my dear friend, @wirefoxboys?
> 
> Maybe;;
> 
> Rated explicit for doing the nasty. Yes, it's ridiculous, but it's all in good fun. Promptio fans rejoice!

“Welcome to Quickie Mart, we’ll have you in and out in a…” Prompto Argentum trails off, staring in disbelief at the customer who is walking through the door of the convenience store. “Why are you always here at four in the morning?” he abruptly demands, then mentally kicks himself when the customer pulls a phone out of his pocket and wiggles it in Prompto’s direction, eyebrow raised.

“You texted me. Or did you change your mind all of a sudden?” Gladio drawls, wandering over to the cashier.

Prompto is already backtracking, face as red as the display of limited-edition Kupo candy boxes set out for Valentine’s Day (which is right around the corner—_ugh_). Gladio looks just as smug as he did when he walked out of the store three weeks ago, the same fateful night he whipped out his dick just to prove a point to the employee. (Prompto had a hell of a time finding and erasing the security tapes from the incident while working his shift the following evening.)

“I was just letting you know the item you needed was in stock, alright?” the blond insists, but his sweaty palms and shifting eyes betray his indignance as nervousness. Gladio laughs loudly as he leans his forearms onto the counter, bending down so he and Prompto are eye-to-eye.

The larger man’s lips twitch up in a smirk, head cocking skeptically. “Do you just so happen to text _all_ of your customers when you order something they want?”

“No, just the ones that give me their numbers.” Prompto pauses, realizing how that sounds, and quickly amends his statement. “You’re the only one who has.”

“Uh huh.” Gladio snorts, straightening a little. “So, you’re telling me that I’m supposed to believe that you got Behemoth Triple XL condoms in stock and that it’s nothing other than excellent customer service?” he continues while wandering down one of the aisles. Prompto knows without looking what he plucks off the shelf, and he watches Gladio saunter back up to the check-out like a daemon in search of a victim to terrorize.

_Me—that victim is me_, he thinks with a gulp. The toothy grin Gladio shoots down at the blond confirms his fears, and Prompto feels his stomach drop like he has just reached the peak of a roller coaster ride and is now barreling downwards at break-neck speed. Gladio slaps the box of condoms down like a poker player who knows they have a winning hand, fixing Prompto with a smoldering gaze.

_Oh man, is it hot in here, or…?_

Prompto jerks his head down, hurrying to scan the item while simultaneously avoiding Gladio’s eyes on him. “That’ll be 10.75,” he mutters, painfully aware of the heat that now pulses in his lower abdomen, pooling between his legs.

“What’s your refund policy?” Gladio asks, sounding amused. Prompto glances up at the customer from beneath his eyelashes, perplexed. “In the event they don’t work out,” he explains.

Prompto can’t hide his exasperation. “What, do you need to try them on or something?”

It’s meant to be sarcastic, but Gladio’s look is pointed and even more predatory than before. “Is that an option?” The blond gapes at the man, mortified. “Got a bathroom?” The shopper is sliding his money on the counter, already looking around the store in an attempt to locate one.

“It’s out of order, but there’s a stock room—” Prompto exhales suddenly, cutting himself off. _What the hell Prompto! You can’t just let him go try on a condom in the store…can you? _He sees Gladio staring at him expectantly, and it makes him reconsider his stance.

_Well…why not? He _did_ pay for them._

Prompto, knowing he will probably regret this decision later, comes around the counter and passes Gladio to walk to the entrance, systematically locking the door and flipping the ‘open’ sign to ‘closed.’ “This way,” he then grunts, pointing Gladio to the back corner of the store where there is a lonely closet. The door’s peeling gray paint has seen better days, and it creaks on its hinges when Prompto opens it to reveal a small space containing an assortment of cleaning items and shelves stocked with excess inventory. Stepping in, Prompto pulls the string on the single bulb hanging from the ceiling, illuminating the meager storage area. Gladio slides in behind him, scanning it with a nod of approval.

“Will this work for what you had in mind?” Prompto huffs, hands on his hips as he tries to communicate this a giant inconvenience.

“Oh, definitely,” Gladio chuckles. There is an awkward silence as Prompto coughs, clearly intent on leaving, but Gladio is leaning against the door like he has no plan to move out of the way. “Wanna lend me a hand, Prompto?” the man suggests in a tone that is smooth as butter and sweet as honey.

The image makes Prompto decide he is a biscuit, and he wants to be slathered and drizzled in whatever Gladio has got to offer him. His mouth goes dry then, and he runs his tongue absently across his pursed lips as he surveys the man. Gladio is leaning with one arm overhead, pressed to the door, his opposite hand with the thumb hooked in the belt loop of his pants.

When he sees Prompto sizing him up, he pushes off the wall and approaches with surefooted steps until they are chest-to-chest—or, face-to-chest in Prompto’s case. The blond tilts his head back, quivering slightly from the proximity and from the sheer fact that he has never been locked in a Quickie Mart closet with an attractive guy who has literally just asked him to handle his cock.

_Wow, he really is tall._ _And big—really big. _How could he forget? Prompto swallows hard when Gladio ever so slowly brings his mouth down, brushing lips lightly across the blond’s as if in question. His eyes flutter shut as he inhales, and he can smell Gladio’s aftershave—Classic Spice: Wilderness, they sell it in aisle three. It’s like if a campfire and a pine tree had a baby, and right now it’s evoking fantasies of fucking inside a tent in the middle of the woods, and Prompto is strangely okay with that.

“Yo, if you’re not into this, now’s your chance to bail,” Gladio murmurs, one hand resting patiently along Prompto’s side. It covers the blond’s entire hip bone, which sends a thrill of excitement through him that he’s never experienced before.

_No way in hell I’m passing this up, no sir. _

“No, uh—I’m _very_ into it. My co-worker comes at five though, so,” Prompto states. Then, he looks down at his wrist only to realize he isn’t wearing a watch.

“In and out in a jiffy,” Gladio jokes, echoing the Quickie Mart greeting. _Oh gods, I will never think about that the same way again._

Prompto doesn’t have much time to think about the awful bastardization of the jingle though, because Gladio chooses that moment to fervently kiss him, tongue sliding between his lips, warm and wet. Prompto is left reeling from the strength of it, nearly stumbling backwards, but the larger man has a firm grip on his hips and pulls the blond tight against his body. It’s exhilarating to be engulfed by someone so much bigger and stronger, and Prompto relishes in the feeling of rippling muscles flexing against his toned abdomen, and the tree-trunk arms that hold him steady. 

_I hope he swallows me whole._

The kissing is nice, and so are the wandering hands that skillfully touch and prod, exploring everywhere they can reach. They’re in Prompto’s hair (which is messy on a good day), and squeezing his shoulders, and there are fingers tucking in his waist band, and palms groping his backside. He tries to return the favor, but there is just too much ground to cover, so he ends up gripping Gladio’s shirt as if it were a life raft in a stormy sea, unable to focus on anything except the growing arousal making his tight pants all the more uncomfortable.

It’s getting noticeably hotter in the closet, probably from all the heavy breathing they’re doing, when Gladio stops in his relentless assault on Prompto’s senses to remove the same shirt that Prompto is still clinging to, leaving the blond unsure of what to do with his hands.

_Holy Six._

Okay, yes, so his dick is impressive, but so are his sculpted pectorals, not to mention the gorgeously detailed eagle tattoo that covers both arms, most of his chest, and Prompto can only assume from the scope of it, his entire back. Prompto was sweating before, but now he has to keep his mouth tightly shut to keep from drooling too, eyes widening in appreciative wonder.

“Like what you see?” Gladio chuckles. Prompto answers by sliding up against him, tongue flicking over an exposed nipple so that it hardens. “Fuck—!” There’s a moan when Prompto’s mouth trails down the mountain of muscle until he can’t go any further. Now on his knees, he unzips Gladio’s pants before he can think better of it, freeing the erection that is straining against the fabric beneath.

It looks even bigger up close—and not gonna lie, it’s super intimidating—but it doesn’t prevent Prompto from fantasizing about getting rammed up against the shelves with Gladio behind him, clothes pulled down to his ankles as he bends over to take his length into his—

“_Fuck_,” Gladio moans again when Prompto covers the tip of his hardened cock with his mouth, experimenting with just how far he can shove it down his throat before he gets the urge to gag. Prompto plays with the pressure of his lips, jaw aching as he slides the thick shaft back and forth in his mouth, tongue swirling along its tip. He sighs when Gladio’s hand tangles in his mess of blond hair, fingers curling and uncurling with each bob of the employee’s head.

At one point Prompto gets a little too ambitious so that he has to pull back and turn his head away as he chokes, sputtering even as Gladio keeps a firm grip in his hair. He glances up to where Gladio is watching him with lips slightly parted, eyes hungry. Teasingly, Prompto licks along the full length of the man’s hard-on, never losing eye contact.

“Shit,” Gladio leans his head back, stance widening. “You keep that up and you’re gonna regret it,” he huffs good-naturedly. With a thrill running through him at the playful warning, Prompto shrugs away Gladio’s hand so he can take off his work polo, reaching down to unzip his own jeans once he does. Gladio eyes Prompto with a focused determination as the employee strips, the man’s cock twitching in his own palm that has reached down to stroke it absently.

“Hey, go big or go home, right?” Prompto laughs as he kicks his clothes into a corner, now feeling very, _very_ small. He may be insecure about his body, but Gladio doesn’t seem disappointed, eyes roving across Prompto’s naked form like a starving man about to eat a meal.

“You couldn’t handle it.” It’s not a boast, it’s just a fact, and Prompto knows he’s right. “But, with a lot of prep and practice…” Gladio trails off before he closes the distance between them again, grabbing Prompto’s hips and lifting him until he’s seated on the edge of one of the metal shelves, the blond’s hips now at chest height. “…you might.” Stomach flipping at the sensation of being lifted, Prompto’s arms wrap around Gladio’s neck, inhaling sharply when one of the man’s large hands fists around his erection, pumping slow.

“You wouldn’t happen to have lube, would ya?” he wonders, skeptical.

Prompto, looking left and then right, giggles as he reaches into an already opened box on a shelf nearby, plucking out a small bottle. _Must have been meant to be. _

“Kenny Crow has a line of lube?” Gladio’s nose scrunches even as he pops the lid, squirting some of the oily liquid into his hand before returning it to Prompto’s cock.

“Yeah, there’s a reason why we still have a ton of it left in stock,” Prompto admits, but _hey, it’ll get the job done_. His partner shakes his head, smiling wryly before increasing the speed of his strokes. Breath catching, Prompto’s head leans back, shelf rattling from the force of his body rocking against it.

_Astrals bless you, Kenny Crow—_it might just be the weirdest thought he’s had while having sex—or ever, really, but pretty soon all he can think about it how he’s going to come all over Gladio’s bare chest if he keeps this up, and that thought takes precedence over everything else.

Prompto grips the shelf above his head with both hands, trying to muffle himself by biting his lip, but then Gladio takes him into his mouth and he can’t help but cry out. When Gladio chuckles in response, the vibrations only add to Prompto’s pleasure, and he keens like a coeurl in heat, blushing belatedly in embarrassment.

_Good thing it’s dark in here. _

“You wanna come like this, or…?” Gladio takes a break to ask, wiping his mouth, and Prompto’s eyes flit down to where the customer is currently touching his own cock, pre-cum beading at its head and making it glisten in the lowlight.

“I got an idea,” Prompto gasps before hopping down. He staggers, legs unwilling to work normally with all the blood now pumping into his groin. Luckily, Gladio is quick to react, catching him in the crook of one arm before he falls. “Thanks,” the blond says sheepishly. Taking the lube from where Gladio has set it aside, Prompto liberally applies it to his inner thighs before turning to face the metal shelving, he steps up onto the second rung and bends at the waist slightly, sticking his ass out. “It’s not the same, but...” Prompto plants his legs, fingers finding the holes in the metal rungs to hook into, and Gladio takes the hint, an arm snaking around Prompto’s waist to grab his opposite hip and hold him steady.

Heat rushes through Prompto when he feels Gladio’s width slide between his legs, and the blond applies the gentlest of pressure with his thighs, shuddering as his own arousal makes him dizzy. It takes a little repositioning, but soon Gladio’s cock is thrusting forward and back, pulsing in-between Prompto’s legs and applying friction that nearly sends them both over the edge. Prompto can feel Gladio’s warm breath on his neck as he drives them steadily upwards towards their climax, and sweat drips down both of their bodies, making them sticky and slick all over.

“You can—” Gladio pants, fingers digging into the muscles of Prompto’s side even as his other hand finds the blond’s arousal and teases it with deft fingers.

“You first,” Prompto gasps, knees pulling together slightly to add more pressure when he feels the last of his control slipping away. Gladio’s thrusts become more frenzied and he moans. There is an incoherent sound as they release, neither of them knowing who came first, and neither caring. Prompto loses his grip on the shelf, limbs going limp with the sudden loss of tension in his lower half, and he is sent careening into Gladio’s open arms with a thud.

For a second, the only sound in the closet is of their ragged breaths, close together at first, then evening out as the minutes of silence stretch long between them. Coming down from his post-sex high, Prompto finally manages to peer up at Gladio, who meets his gaze with a lopsided smile.

“Well, how was it?” Gladio asks, curious.

_Wow. Great. Awesome. Phenomenal. Legendary. _Any of these words would suffice, but all Prompto can do is laugh nervously, suddenly remembering where he is and just how big of trouble he would be in if anyone knew that he fucked a customer in the storage closet.

“Alrighty then,” Gladio says flatly, bending to pick his shirt up off the ground. Prompto also hurries to grab his clothes, yanking on his underwear and jeans before finding his voice.

“Don’t get me wrong, that was…” He cringes when he catches sight of Kenny Crow on the side of a cardboard box, angled so it looks like the mascot is glaring at him in judgement. “…really fun.”

“Uh huh,” Gladio grunts, already opening the door. The employee scrambles after him as he pulls on his shirt, blinking from the bright fluorescent lighting that floods his vision as they step back into the convenience store.

“I’m not good with words!” Prompto blurts, causing Gladio to stop and turn to face him. He arches one eyebrow at the blond as if to say, _yeah, I can see that._ “Please. I get off work at five. Maybe we can grab breakfast?”

Gladio crosses his arms, ink feathers bulging with the contraction of his forearms, but Prompto is relieved to see he is smiling now. “Are you asking me on a date, blondie?”

Blushing furiously, Prompto simply nods, not trusting himself to speak, and Gladio’s smile instantly transforms into a grin. “Alright then. Kenny Crow’s?”

Prompto groans loudly, covering his face with both hands to smother a snort. When he finally recovers, he is smiling too. “Fine, but you’re buying,” he agrees, feeling bold.

Gladio laughs, flips the sign from ‘closed’ back to ‘open,’ and unlocks the front door before stepping out, saluting in confirmation. “It’d be my pleasure, Prompto.”

Unable to resist, Prompto calls after him, grinning stupidly: “Thank you for visiting Quickie Mart, come again!”


	16. Wild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bonus scene from my fic "Write Drunk, Edit Sober." Since it takes place after the events of the story, it contains spoilers. 
> 
> _It’s Ignis who has him thinking a lot about wild chocobos recently, especially since they just re-watched the documentary for the fifth time a few nights ago. Well, mostly watched. Prompto was too busy sucking his boyfriend’s dick for the second half of it, but he practically knows the narration by heart now, so he doesn’t feel too guilty about getting distracted, and Ignis definitely didn’t mind._
> 
> Rated Explicit for the Promnis smut (oooh yeah).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stayed up until midnight writing this. RIP

_The Secret Life of Chocobos _is Prompto’s favorite documentary—yes, even over _Our Eos_ and _Our Eos 2_—simply because it focuses on his favorite animal, the big, adorable bird that is well known throughout the Lucian countryside. His obsession started in middle school on a field trip to Wiz’s Chocobo Post, and it stuck, following him through his teenage years and into adulthood, all the way up through his third year of college.

_Wow, can’t believe I’m actually a junior_, Prompto thinks as he skips up the steps of the history building on Insomnia University’s campus. _Time sure does fly._ It took a lot of blood, sweat, and vomit to get Prompto to where he is now, sitting at a solid 3.4 GPA with a little (okay, a _lot_) of help from his oh-so-talented, absolutely gorgeous boyfriend, Professor Ignis Scientia.

It’s Ignis who has him thinking a lot about wild chocobos recently, especially since they just re-watched the documentary for the fifth time a few nights ago. Well, _mostly_ watched. Prompto was too busy sucking his boyfriend’s dick for the second half of it, but he practically knows the narration by heart now, so he doesn’t feel too guilty about getting distracted, and Ignis _definitely_ didn’t mind.

_When selecting a mate, the wild chocobo will court their desired partner for several months, the longest out of any bird in the animal kingdom. If the other chocobo is receptive to their advances, they will develop a dance, which is taught throughout their encounters until the two can perform it together prior to mating. This intricate ceremony is unique to each chocobo couple and heralded as proof that even seemingly simple beasts can develop traditions born purely out of love, and not only out of necessity. _

That was around the time Ignis had come in Prompto’s mouth, because he remembers that they cuddled and watched the section on chocobo mating habits immediately after. Good times.

Now, Prompto leans outside the doorway to Ignis’s History of Lucis 101 class, grinning when he hears his boyfriend’s voice floating up from the lower level of the lecture hall. 

“…do not forget that your midterm papers are due prior to returning from spring break. Please consult your rubrics online for more detailed instructions. Enjoy your holiday.”

There is the squeaking of chairs on tile as the students are dismissed, and Prompto waits, listening to the excited chatter of the freshmen filing out of the room as they discuss their travel plans for the next week. Once he is sure everyone has left, he peers around the corner and into the class, watching where Ignis is gathering his notes at the podium in front of the projector. The professor is unaware that someone is observing him, and Prompto smiles when he adjusts his glasses absently, smoothing down the navy tie that hangs over his starched white shirt—and oh yeah, can’t forget those suspenders.

Prompto whistles suggestively as he walks into the room, shutting the door firmly behind him before locking it. Ignis glances up, smiling when he sees who his visitor is, and pauses in packing up.

“Heya Mr. Scientia.” He takes the steps two at a time until he stands in front of the podium, leaning over to purse his lips expectantly.

Chuckling, Ignis takes the hint and kisses him in greeting. “Mr. Argentum, what a surprise,” the professor says teasingly.

_The wild chocobo hails its intended mate with a song, usually consisting of a series of warbles and kwehs. _

Prompto hums a little, shifting from side to side as he deepens the kiss, hand coming up to remove Ignis’s glasses and set them aside. There is a surprised noise from the professor, but he doesn’t pull away, hand sliding over Prompto’s to squeeze it lightly.

“To what do I owe this honor?” Ignis murmurs against Prompto’s mouth, noses touching. Shimmying, Prompto worms around the podium between them to properly hug his boyfriend, hands coming to clutch his suspenders and tug, releasing them a moment later with a satisfying snap. Ignis arches one eyebrow, scanning Prompto with an amused look as he tsks.

“I wanted to surprise you. Celebrate the start of spring break in style,” Prompto answers evasively, circling around Ignis with his hands clasped behind his back.

_After greeting its partner, the wild chocobo will start its dance, hoping the convince the other to join in on the fun. _

“Indeed,” Ignis replies, cautious and skeptical (as he should be whenever Prompto surprises him). Without his glasses on, the professor must keep his eyes slightly narrowed to see clearly, but it serves the dual purpose of making him look more suspicious than he actually is. In reality, he knows _exactly_ what Prompto is up to, because subtly has never been the blond’s forte.

Prompto is now bouncing with nervous energy, and he splays his hands in front of him, a sure sign he is about to go on a rant. Finding the corner of a desk to sit on, Ignis levels his boyfriend with an expectant look. “So, don’t panic, but I made sure all the doors are locked—” Both of Ignis’s eyebrows raise. “—and I got Noct and Gladio guarding the halls for us. They said they’d pull the fire alarm if anyone happens to walk by—”

“Prompto,” Ignis interjects in exasperation. The professor steps forward as if to grab Prompto and keep him from moving, but Prompto steps to the left and then hops back, staying out of reach.

“—soooo,” Prompto drawls, finger gunning in his boyfriend’s direction. “Prepare yourself, because I’m about to blow your mind, professor.” Ignis stares, blinking slow as Prompto freezes his smile in place. He looks so hopeful that Ignis isn’t sure how to react, and after a long moment of silence with no reply, Prompto decides to make his move.

_In the event their dance doesn’t evoke a reaction, a chocobo may resort to more desperate measures in an attempt to woo its target._

It takes Prompto exactly one and a half steps to push Ignis into the desk behind him, and he immediately reaches up to grab the professor’s tie, yanking him in for a kiss before grinding their hips together. Ignis’s moan is low, muffled by the tongue that slides into his mouth as soon as his lips part, and Prompto wastes no time in finding the zipper on his boyfriend’s slacks, pulling down in one fluid motion.

“Prompto—” Ignis gasps, panicky.

“Live a little,” Prompto urges as he frees the professor’s suspenders from his shoulders, allowing them to dangle down like a lure on fishing line. He follows up the order with a grope, hand sliding into Ignis’s now undone pants to stroke in-between his legs, and he is rewarded with the sight of the teacher throwing his head back, biting his lip to hold back a groan of pleasure. With another nudge, Prompto presses Ignis onto his back so that he is flat against the desk, already working to remove the professor’s clothes. He gets Ignis’s pants off, but leaves his tall argyle socks on—for the aesthetic.

“Darling—_here_?” Prompto can tell by the slight undulation in Ignis’s tone that his resolve is wavering despite his initial reluctance, and the blond pushes Ignis’s knees wide, unfastening the top button of his own pants to accommodate his growing erection.

_In the wild, chocobos will mate whenever the mood strikes them, often using the activity as a means of stress relief or even out of sheer boredom. In short, sometimes they merely want to ‘spice things up.’ _

“Let me take care of you, Mr. Scientia.” Smirking mischievously, Prompto sucks slowly on his index and middle fingers, capturing Ignis’s attention before trailing the two digits through the sandy hair beneath the professor’s navel, along his now attentive cock, and down, down, inserting one slowly into the opening in his boyfriend’s muscled backside and applying gentle pressure. Prompto takes his time playfully stretching him, and Ignis’s eyelids flutter, accompanied by a forceful and ragged exhale when he grips the edge of the desk.

_Damn_, Prompto thinks with pride as he surveys the professor half-naked before him, tie and hair askew, shirt partially unbuttoned. Ignis manages to glance up at Prompto, eyes glassy with arousal. If he weren’t so focused on the task at hand, Prompto might have came with that look alone—but he’s had some practice enduring it by now, so instead he hooks Ignis’s legs over his shoulders to lift the man’s hips, removing his fingers as he positions his cock against the professor’s entrance.

Ignis can’t help but chuckle when Prompto pulls a small bottle of lube out of the front pocket of his jeans. “You fiend,” he grumbles good-naturedly.

“What’s that? _I love you_? Aw, that’s so sweet, babe,” Prompto jokes as he slathers his dick in the slick liquid, then along Ignis’s ass. He doesn’t hesitate in slipping the head of his cock inside of him, and the blond relishes in the feeling of the professor’s legs twitching, clamping tighter.

Prompto begins to build a steady rhythm, the desk sliding slightly with each thrust. “You know, I think you’ve found the secret of how to get me to come to class,” Prompto says languidly, steadying Ignjs by pressing into his toned abdomen. He smiles when the professor’s cock curls up towards the hand that he has placed there.

“Did you say come in class? Naughty boy,” Ignis pants. Prompto grins wickedly at the taunt, rocking his hips a little more and forcing Ignis to slap a hand over his mouth to strangle a cry that rises suddenly in his throat.

“You were saying, professor?” He leans down, pausing to nuzzle into Ignis’s exposed neck and lap at a bead of sweat.

“I was saying—” Ignis grunts as he arches needily, fingers finding Prompto’s hair and tugging in reprimand, “—that you better finish me quickly, or else you won’t enjoy the homework that I assign.” His tone drops in the second half of the sentence, full of dark promise. Its throaty quality sets Prompto’s skin on fire and electricity shooting through his veins—leaning back, he decides to pick up where he left off.

“Yes sir,” he quips enthusiastically.

It only takes a few more minutes before Prompto has his fingers curled around Ignis’s hard-on, pumping in time with the back-and-forth movement of his lower half. Having given up on covering his mouth, Ignis now bites into his tie, using it as a make-shift gag to dull all the sounds he is emitting, but it can only do so much. Prompto groans as he feels things coming to a climax, Ignis’s thighs contracting in response.

_It is not uncommon for young chocobos, especially newly partnered ones, to spend entire days, even weeks in close contact with one another—eating, sleeping, and copulating in a near constant cycle. One might think they would quickly tire of one another, but the wild birds’ stamina is unparalleled. _

“Fuck—” At least, that’s what Prompto thinks Ignis says (the tie makes it come out more as _fugh)_. The professor bucks, cock jumping beneath Prompto’s fingers as he comes with a flourish, and Prompto watches Ignis come apart and go limp while he pushes to finish.

Ignis gives him that same breathless look from earlier, and it’s just the extra shove he needs to dive over the edge. “Ahh,” Prompto breathes with relief as the tension in his groin surges, then ebbs abruptly, a sticky warm feeling coating him below the waist.

Neither moves at first, listening to each other’s uneven inhales and exhales. Eventually, Prompto steps back, slipping out of Ignis and turning away to collect himself and fix his clothes so that it looks more like he got dressed in a hurry, and less like he just had sex in a classroom. Ignis takes a little longer to sit up, dizzy from the sudden rush of blood away from his head. It takes Prompto bending down to collect the professor’s discarded garments for Ignis to come back to his senses.

“You really fucked me in my own lecture hall,” he states in muted disbelief.

“Yep, sure did,” Prompto boasts, now zipping up his pants. He draws closer to help Ignis fix his tie and clip his suspenders back on straight, finally running fingers through the professor’s hair with a gentle fondness.

“You vile troublemaker. I’ll need to go home to clean up this mess.” Ignis shakes his head, but he’s smiling, both dumbfounded and surpisingly pleased.

“You’re welcome,” he chirps. Prompto throws up a peace sign for good measure and Ignis laughs one of his full, uncontrolled laughs, warming the blond from the inside-out. “So, round two tonight at your place? I’ll bring dessert.” He winks, feeling bold.

Ignis pulls Prompto in by his beltloops, kissing his boyfriend with unhurried passion. “Absolutely.” Prompto’s heart does an excited back-flip in response.

_Although domesticated chocobos have been trained to accept multiple sexual partners for the purpose of breeding, the wild chocobo is hopelessly devoted to one partner, and one partner alone. Mates seek refuge in each other, choosing to spend as much time together as possible, similar to a married couple might._

“Pick me up at six?” Prompto says, only pulling away because he knows what will happen if he doesn’t.

“It’s a date,” Ignis agrees happily before rising to achieve his glasses from where they still sit on the podium. Putting them on, he watches with perfect clarity as Prompto waves and saunters off, already planning for a wild evening of takeout and homemade pastries, half-watching a documentary on the couch, and communicating in as few words as possible just how much one Prompto Argentum means to him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally made up everything about chocobos. One might say I was _winging_ it.


	17. Ornament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A journal entry written by Ignis becomes a letter to Noctis.
> 
> _I do my part, but most days I feel lost. Without you, it as if I am a broken compass, spinning in endless circles looking for direction. But, I digress. Back to the matter at hand. _
> 
> For general audiences, no archive warnings apply. Prepare for angst and feels.

_I would like the record to show that I opposed this from the start. _

_You, however, would probably laugh if you could see me now. Say something along the lines of, “it suits you.” I beg to differ. Astrals know though, I would do anything to hear you laugh, even at my own expense, but that is neither here nor there. _

_It’s been an entire year—a year and one day, in fact, and yet it feels like only yesterday that you saved us all. “Walk tall,” you said. We have all taken your words to heart and have tried to implement them to the best of our ability, but I must admit, it has been the most difficult order I have had to carry out. _

_We stayed together this time. Rebuilding the city would have been impossible otherwise, although the Glaive did most of the legwork. Gladio has taken naturally to leading alongside the Marshal, and Prompto? He has become a shining beacon of hope for those who have returned to Insomnia. You would be so incredibly proud of them both. _

_I do my part, but most days I feel lost. Without you, it as if I am a broken compass, spinning in endless circles looking for direction. But, I digress. Back to the matter at hand. _

_We had our first democratic election, a new standard that has been met with mixed reactions. Certainly, Insomnia cannot remain leaderless forever, and I agreed to the change in government without much thought of how it might affect me. As it were, the delegates voted unanimously to elect me as the new ruler of Lucis. Ironically, I was unaware that my name was put forward as an option, as I had no desire to govern in your stead. (I found out later that it was Gladio and Prompto who made the suggestion.)_

_Now, the people are looking to me for guidance, and for the first time in my life, I feel like an imposter in the Citadel. Today, I sat on the throne—_your_ throne. I missed everything that was said in the council meeting, as all I could think about was the coldness of your hands when we found you in that very spot…I needn’t go into detail. It is now public record._

_They even wanted to place _your_ crown on my head, an ornament meant for kings! Blasphemous. I am not proud to admit that my reaction to the suggestion was less than professional, but I could not hold my emotions back any longer. It took Gladio and Prompto several hours to calm me, and even then, I refused to return to the throne room until this morning._

_How can I pretend to be something I am not? I am neither king nor commoner. I stood by your side, even knowing your fate, and I did it for the world that is now sorely in need of you. Not me, but _you_. Their king. _

_I, also, need you desperately. Though I can never say it aloud, I find it increasingly more difficult to imagine living in a world without you in it. _

_But, this is the burden of those who remain in the world you saved, and what sort of retainer—or friend—would I be if I merely abandoned it now?_

_I refuse to wear your kingly raiment, or to parade myself amongst the people with a crown on my head, but I promise that I will work to the best of my ability to do what you would have wanted for the citizens of Insomnia. To open the borders of our lands. To protect the peace. _

_Maybe, one day, this pain will become a dull ache, and I will be able to speak your name without this awful tightness in my throat, but for now, I will endure as I always have. _

_May I make one simple request? If you are watching over us, would you impart some of your charisma to me? Some of your ease with others, that gentle kindness and natural charm that we all love? I know that I am stiff, and may be somewhat unapproachable at times, which is not ideal in this situation. You, although not always the most well versed in politics, always had a way with people, an ability to draw others to you._

_People believed in you—it is what made them wait for ten years for your return, never losing hope, even in the darkest of nights (myself included). _

_I know that this road will be long and treacherous, but it is not anything I am not used to. Countless hours spent in the car, sleeping under stars, fighting incredible foes, and witnessing impossible feats have more than adequately prepared me for what lies ahead._

_Except for the fact that you are not by my side. That, unfortunately, I woefully underprepared for. _

_Perhaps it is silly to write when I know no one will read it, but I miss you terribly. Although I have not seen your smile in over a decade, I could always hear it in your voice. I miss it, and I miss cooking for you, even when you complained about the ratio of vegetables to meat. I miss the long, lazy days spent fishing, and the times around the campfire with you, Gladio, and Prompto. The three of you became the family I never had, and always wanted, and I wish I had told you as much before it was too late._

_But now is not the time to wallow in self-pity and regret. I will put on a brave face, and I will live in your place, celebrating your memory and serving it justice. If I accomplish nothing else, I will ensure that no man or woman on Eos ever forgets the name of Noctis Lucis Caelum—our savior, and my dearest friend. _

_Eternally yours,_

_Ignis_


	18. Misfit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some young Gladnis set in my high school AU for _The Insomnian Academy for the Elite_.
> 
> _“His Highness doesn’t need to know everything about us. How we choose to relieve stress isn’t anyone’s business. And besides—” Gladio shrugs, “—if our worth was only determined by our bad habits, we’d all be in trouble.”_
> 
> For general audiences, no archive warnings apply.

The air is biting, sharp and unforgiving, but it doesn’t keep Gladio from sneaking his way onto the roof of the school. He needs to get away, and at the Insomnian Academy for the Elite, the roof is about the only place you can go to be alone.

It’s one of those days where everyone and everything is pissing him off—from the too-fake smile of the girls who try to flirt with him, to the snarky commentary from jealous boys who see said fake girls trying to first with him, and even the teachers, who take one look at a large, muscled kid and automatically assume he is a jock with no brain.

_Lady_, _the first book I ever read was the Cosmogony at age five, so don’t assume I didn’t read the textbook and try to call me out in the middle of class. _

It’s difficult to fight the stereotypes, even with the Amicitia name behind him. Everyone thinks that because he’s the future King’s Shield, he’s not good at any subject other than Tactics and Arms. The only one who knows any different is—

“Ignis?” Gladio stops, letting the door swing shut behind him. Standing by the stony parapet that wraps all away around the top of the academy is none other than his close friend and classmate, Ignis Scientia, and he turns to Gladio in alarm, hurriedly putting his arms behind him as he locks eyes with the unexpected visitor. His expression is guilty, like a child caught with their hand in a cookie jar, and it makes Gladio think Ignis is up to something.

Shoulders rounding against the winter chill, Gladio meanders over to join Ignis on the walkway. “What are you doing up here?” Gladio grunts. He pauses, frowning when he smells a familiar sickly-sweet scent.

“I could ask the same of you,” Ignis says dryly, hands still tightly clasped out of sight.

“Fair enough. What’cha got there?” He leans his forearms against the wall and glances down at the barren fountain of Leviathan in the circular driveway below before gesturing to indicate whatever it is Ignis is hiding behind him.

“Nothing.” Ignis falls short of sounding convincing, and sighs when Gladio arches one eyebrow at him as if to say, _come on, I’m not stupid. _His friend’s shoulders slump in defeat. “All right, but you mustn’t tell anyone.” Reluctantly, Ignis pulls his hands in front of him, and Gladio can see that the student has a small, slender item delicately perched between two fingers.

Both of Gladio’s eyebrows shoot up in disbelief. “Huh. I didn’t know that you smoked, Specs. Since when?”

Seeing that he isn’t being met with outright judgement, Ignis brings takes a long drag of the cigarette, blowing the smoke into a cloud that grows larger before expanding to disperse upwards and outwards. “Since a few years ago, but only on occasion. I know that it is a dreadful habit, but it helps me think, and it can be surprisingly relaxing. Can you believe it was my uncle who introduced me to it?” Gladio shakes his head, picturing Ignis’s overbearing uncle who also works in the Citadel. Their only similarity is that they share the same family tree, and it’s easy to picture the man using smoking as a way to bond with his estranged nephew.

“I can believe it,” he agrees.

“You must think I am quite the misfit,” Ignis bemoans, more than a little embarrassed. “Surely Noct would disapprove.” Gladio watches the red glow of the cigarette burning, taking his time to collect his thoughts before answering. 

“His Highness doesn’t need to know everything about us. How we choose to relieve stress isn’t anyone’s business. And besides—” Gladio shrugs, “—if our worth was only determined by our bad habits, we’d all be in trouble.”

“Oh? And what are yours, pray tell?” Ignis wonders as he brings the cigarette to his lips once more.

Gladio snorts. “I hit things, mostly. Curse a lot, stay out late. Sometimes I drink or skip class. Maybe it’s considered more socially acceptable than smoking, but there are days I hate how much I can’t control my emotions. My dad says I wear my heart on my sleeve—but he doesn’t mean it as a compliment.” Gladio’s eyes pan up now as something pulls tight in his chest. There is a lull in the conversation, and smoke continues to swirl around the two boys, both lost in thought.

Eventually, Ignis breaks the silence. “My father used to say, ‘Let no one know what you are thinking. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer,’ and other such things.” There’s another pause, and Gladio looks at Ignis now, entranced by how the cigarette seems to fit perfectly in the curve of his full lips, long fingers holding it with practiced ease. The bespectacled student’s green eyes pierce through the hazy cloud he creates with a controlled exhale, and Gladio feels his heart speed up inexplicably. “I think it is quite admirable that you can express how you feel at any given moment. I, on the other hand, would rather hide on rooftops.” Ignis’s lips twitch up into a brief smile that is gone as quickly as it appears.

“I admire everything about you, Iggy.” The words are out of Gladio’s mouth before he can think better of it, turning into a whisper by the time it reaches Ignis’s name. Maybe it’s just the cold, but Gladio notices the slight flush of pink in his friend’s cheeks as he looks away. “How you present yourself—how everyone respects you, even though you’re only in high school. You’re hella smart, stronger than people give you credit for, _and _you put up with his-royal-pain-in-the-ass on a daily basis. I’m not sure how you do it.” They both laugh at the last point, mood lifting just enough for Gladio’s shoulders to relax from where they were bunched to his ears.

“You are around Noctis nearly as much as I am,” Ignis chides, but the smile stays on his face this time.

Gladio grins in response. “True, but you handle him better. What I’m saying is, maybe we deserve our vices.”

“An interesting notion.” Ignis seems hesitant now, and the cigarette begins to die as he bites his lip, staring off into the distance. Gently, Gladio bumps their shoulders together before holding one hand out, palm up. “Hm?”

“Can I bum one off of you?” Gladio asks. His friend seems surprised, but nods, fishing in his inner-jacket pocket to pull out another cigarette and a lighter. Gladio takes it carefully, waiting for Ignis to light it for him before puffing on it.

“You smoke as well?” There is underlying disbelief in Ignis’s tone.

Gladio chuckles and echoes Ignis’s earlier explanation. “Only on occasion.”

Ignis smothers his current cigarette out on the stone wall before slipping his hands into his blazer. “Why did you come up here?” he wonders, now peering at Gladio with interest.

“Same as you, I figure. To think. To get away. Must be a thing we ‘misfits’ do,” the larger boy teases. Ignis laughs again, and Gladio finds that the sound eases some of the ache in his chest, warming him despite the cold. They’re still standing with their arms pressed lightly together, and he finds their closeness thrilling—but then Ignis turns, stepping away, and Gladio is surprised by how jarring the simple motion is to his sense of equilibrium.

“Well then, if you need time alone, I shall take my leave—”

“—no!” Gladio blurts. Seeing Ignis freeze in place, he rushes to explain himself. “You don’t have to—go, that is.” He lifts a hand to run it through his freshly buzzed hair, hoping it doesn’t make him look as nervous as he feels. “Misery loves company,” he adds jokingly.

“Ah…yes.” Ignis is wearing a strange expression now, but he returns to lean against the wall as Gladio slides the cigarette back into his mouth. It’s a good excuse not to talk right away, and the larger boy takes advantage of it, blowing smoke rings above their heads. When their shoulder tips come together again, whatever else Gladio had thought about saying flies out of his mind, and all feelings of frustration melt away—until only he and Ignis remain.


	19. Sling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An AU where Ignis is slinging drinks as a bartender at the Maagho instead of being Noctis's advisor, Noctis is the King of Lucis, and Gladio is his faithful Shield and general of the Kingsglaive. 
> 
> _“May I take your order, general?”_
> 
> _Gladio’s head jerks up at the sound of a smooth, Tenebraean accent, and his words momentarily get jumbled as he surveys the bartender—a tall, slender man, with the bone structure of a Solheim statue, sand-colored hair and those eyes—greener than grass in spring, unable to be muted behind a smart-looking pair of glasses._
> 
> No archive warnings apply, some sweet Gladnis suitable for general audiences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For @He6o on Twitter! Thanks for helping me flesh out this idea. You can find their art for this fic [HERE](https://twitter.com/he6o/status/1186086633717846016?s=21)

When in Insomnia, you tour the Citadel. If you happen to be in Leide, you must see Galdin Quay. Passing through Lestallum? You should stop by their farmer’s market—and when in Altissia, you visit the Maagho. It’s a staple of the city, world renowned as a culinary icon, and it not only serves the freshest seafood in Accordo, but its bartenders sling the best drinks in all of Eos, guaranteed.

So, when General Gladiolus Amicitia is granted a rare night off (at King Noctis’s behest) he decides to get as far away from the Accordon peace summit and its politics as possible by treating himself to a good meal, and even better libations, at the famous bar. With his liege’s assurance that he can survive one evening without his Shield, Gladio arrives at the bustling establishment and finds a stool at the end of the long counter to claim as his own. Still wearing his Kingsglaive fatigues, his seat selection serves a dual purpose: make it more difficult for people to approach him and ensure he can easily see everyone who comes in or out.

It’s not late, but it isn’t early either, and it takes a couple minutes before a bartender approaches to take Gladio’s order. The general is reading while he waits—a historical fiction novel that he has been meaning to finish but hasn’t been able to with all the talks and meetings occupying every moment of the last few days.

“May I take your order, general?”

Gladio’s head jerks up at the sound of a smooth, Tenebraean accent, and his words momentarily get jumbled as he surveys the bartender—a tall, slender man, with the bone structure of a Solheim statue, sand-colored hair and those _eyes_—greener than grass in spring, unable to be muted behind a smart-looking pair of glasses.

“General?” he says again. Although his voice is soft, it cuts through the chatter surrounding them.

“How do you know I’m a general?” Gladio grunts, glancing down at the menu he hasn’t touched since he arrived. When he looks back up, the server is smiling.

The man gestures to Gladio’s uniform, which is when he sees how toned the Tenebraean’s forearms are, and makes notes of the size of his manicured hands, surprisingly well kept despite working in the service industry. “Your uniform, sir. The stars give it away. I may be a simple bartender, but I keep up with the news. Welcome to the Maagho, General Amicitia.”

Gladio chuckles. “Well done…?” he looks to the bartender expectantly and is rewarded with another smile.

“Ignis, sir. Are you drinking this evening?” Ignis reaches to grab a pint glass, already pouring a beer from the tap, and Gladio is distracted by the bartender’s rolled sleeves and suspenders, a look that suits the classic feel of the establishment—and only adds to the man’s charm.

“Yes,” the general finally agrees, eyes raising when Ignis slides the freshly poured beer towards him. “Ah, I—”

“On the house. Cheers.” Ignis winks, and Gladio swallows the rest of his dying protest, merely nodding in agreement.

“Cheers.” He’s used to commanding hundreds of soldiers and conversing with kings, and yet this ‘simple bartender’ has him fumbling through his thoughts like a high school boy with a crush—and he hasn’t even had a drop of alcohol.

_It truly has been too long_, Gladio muses. War and matters of the state tend to put a damper on romance and relationships. The general sips at his beer thoughtfully as Ignis flits away to fill other orders. Without meaning to, he finds himself watching the bartender as he works. Despite Ignis’s height, he moves as gracefully as a dancer, quick and efficient, and always with a smile on his face. Gladio finds himself mirroring the expression with a smile of his own, and his glass empties quickly, book now pushed aside and forgotten.

After making the rounds, Ignis returns to Gladio’s side of the bar. “Another drink, general?” Ignis asks while mixing a cocktail with practiced ease. As he finishes, adding a spring of mint for garnish, he slides it over to the man a few stools down from Gladio, inclining his head when the patron sets a handful of gil down as a tip.

“Surprise me,” Gladio decides. Ignis turns to face him, and his smile turns into a playful smirk, warming Gladio more than any liquor ever could.

“One surprise, yes sir,” he says, eyes sparkling mischievously. 

It could be standard practice, but Gladio gets the feeling that Ignis might be showing off when he grabs two bottles from off a high shelf, flipping them into the air only to catch and spin them in a quick revolution so that they begin to pour seamlessly into a stainless steel mixer. Conversation around them dies as people give the bartender their undivided attention, entranced. One bottle is set aside while the other still pours, and without looking, Ignis grabs another mixer, throwing it into the air. The second bottle comes down in the time it takes for the bartender to catch it in his opposite hand, seemingly defying gravity.

Some people ‘ooh’ and ‘aah,’ while others applaud the trick. All the while, Ignis’s expression doesn’t change from cool and collected, and ice seems to magically appear, sliding with a clink into the second shaker. Gladio is just as enchanted as the other customers, leaning forward slightly to watch Ignis mix the two cups together with a series of strong movements. A tall glass is procured from under the bar, and Ignis balances it on the back of one hand while pouring the mixture inside of it, a pale yellow in color. It nearly fills the glass, leaving some space at the top.

“Hmm, it’s missing something,” he hums, setting the glass down to tap his chin. “Ah, yes.” With a snap of his fingers, he suddenly reaches for Gladio, and the general goes dangerously still, his eyes the only thing that moves as Ignis draws in close enough to grab, the bartender’s delicate fingers brushing behind his ear. Gladio doesn’t breathe or blink until Ignis pulls back, a small vile of dark liquid in hand. Popping off the cork, he deposits the liquid in the beverage so that it fills the rest of the glass, and onlookers gasp appreciatively when a wave of color begins to descend through the cocktail, turning it a brilliant, deep purple.

Those sitting closest to Gladio clap and laugh when Ignis gives a small bow before holding the drink out to the general. Mystified, Gladio takes it, sipping when everyone looks to him eagerly. He’s pleasantly surprised by the depth of the drink; it is strong without being overwhelming, with a sweet finish instead of the typical bitter aftertaste of most cocktails.

“What is this?” Gladio asks as he continues to drink it.

“A secret recipe of my own creation,” Ignis answers, already taking orders from other patrons for the same drink. “I call it, ‘the Grand Chamberlain.’ Does it suit you, general?” he asks, glancing at Gladio from over the top of his glasses.

It’s not what the Glaive is used to, but as his eyes lock with the bartender’s, he can’t help but say, “Yes. It suits me just fine.” For a moment, in the crowded room, it feels like they are the only two people in the world. Gladio takes another swallow of the cocktail, and Ignis eventually looks away to attend to another customer who is calling his name.

Time becomes fluid as the night rushes on, and people come and go, glasses filling and emptying in a dizzying rhythm. Ignis is the one constant, the engine that keeps the Maagho running like clockwork, and Gladio loses track of the hours as he watches the man work, just as enthusiastic in the wee hours of the morning as he was when the general first arrived.

It is nearing closing time, and Gladio is still reluctant to leave despite knowing he will probably regret it in the morning if he doesn’t. The bar is mostly quiet now, save for a couple in the corner who is deep in conversation and a few stragglers who are dangerously close to being cut off. Gladio’s mind is buzzing, but in a comfortable way—he knows better than to get drunk in public, too much rides on him keeping his wits about him to do otherwise.

Ignis is wiping down the countertop and neatly setting aside glasses onto a drying mat, preparing to close for the night. The general sets a stack of gil on the bar as a tip, then hesitates, turning away, then back again. Catching the movement out of the corner of his eye, Ignis looks up, cocking his head to the side in question.

“May I get you anything else, general?” The soft glow of the lanterns reflects on the glass of the bartender’s spectacles, making it appear like his eyes are on fire. Gladio feels his pulse quicken, and he is immediately at a loss for words.

“It’s Gladio,” he manages to mutter.

“Gladio?” Ignis sets aside his washrag.

“Gladio Amicitia,” he confirms, then pauses. “I was wondering if you could recommend a good breakfast spot.” The general slides his hands into the pockets of his coat to keep them from visibly fidgeting.

Ignis nods, lips pursing as he thinks. “There are several nearby—the Seventh Heaven Café is a personal favorite of mine, but there’s also the Café d’amore and Tupelo Honey. Tupelo is a bit pricy, although, I wouldn’t imagine that cost is a concern for the King’s Shield.” Gladio chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You already knew my name, didn’t you?” he assumes. Ignis doesn’t need to reply. His smug expression is enough to confirm the general’s suspicions. Impressed and more than a little smitten, Gladio decides to take a chance. “Well then, Specs, would you be willing to take me to your favorite place whenever you’re finished here? My treat.”

“It will be another hour at least.” The bartender folds his arms, lips twitching up at the corners despite the appraising once-over he gives the Glaive. “If you’re willing to wait, it would be my pleasure to show you some genuine Altissian hospitality.”

Sliding back onto the nearest barstool, Gladio grins as Ignis automatically pours him a glass of water. “I promise—the pleasure will be all mine.” 

[](https://ibb.co/k5Bv1DN)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tupelo Honey is the name of an actual cafe that I have visited. Seventh Heaven Cafe is a nod to my fic, _The Altissian Academy of the Arts._
> 
> First fanart by @JusticeDoesDraw on Twitter, second fanart by @He6o.


	20. Tread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I took "tread" to mean the tread of shoes, which evolved into following in someone's footsteps, and then my wife suggested "walk tall" and what it meant to Regis and Noctis.
> 
> _“Walk tall?” Noctis scoffs a little. “What does that even mean?” he groans in the way only a seven-year-old can._
> 
> For general audiences, no archive warnings apply.

“Do we have to?”

King Regis chuckles as he surveys his son. His lips are pursed with a frown too big for his seven-year-old face, hair mussed from the gentle summer breeze. Slumping his shoulders, the young prince kicks the ground idly before looking up at his father, gray eyes adopting the blue of the sky overhead.

Regis smiles. “Viewing the trees in full bloom is a time-honored tradition. One day, you will walk these grounds with your children.” He pats the child’s head fondly, sparing a brief glance at his retinue of retainers who are patiently waiting at a respectable distance on the edge of the Citadel’s inner garden.

“I’m sleepy,” Noctis protests, small hand worming its way into his father’s. Regis marvels at the child’s soft skin, not yet marred by hard work or hours of military training. _Innocent_. It makes a pang shoot through him as the thought crosses his mind: _My love, I wish you could see him now._

“Well then,” Regis chuckles, stooping down to Noctis’s level. “You might be too big for it now, but perhaps I could carry you on my shoulders. How does that suit you?” He’s rewarded with a full-on grin from the prince, and the king wastes no time in hoisting Noctis up and over, ignoring some concerned looks from the men nearby. All things considered, the boy isn’t that heavy. The king has carried much heavier burdens—both physical and mental—and none nearly as willingly.

They begin to walk, Regis making a point to stop under the trees that have low hanging branches to allow the prince to reach up and grasp their blossoms. When the wind blows, it scatters white-pink petals through the air—snow in sunshine.

“When was the last time we simply walked together?” Regis wonders, more to himself than to Noctis.

“Mm. I dunno. A really, _really_ long time,” the child answers anyway, and Regis tilts his head when he feels small fingers slipping something into his hair.

“What are you doing, Noctis?” he laughs.

“Making you a crown,” the boy says simply, placing another flower into his father’s dark locks.

“Ah, I see,” the king murmurs with amusement.

Regis continues their tour of the garden, pausing by a pond full of brightly colored fish to allow Noctis to observe them. His back is beginning to ache, so the king lets his son slide down to the ground and watches as the child tosses leaves onto the surface of the water, giggling anytime one of the fish makes an appearance. Golden mouths gape to accept what they think is food, only to spit out the greenery seconds later. 

“I used to fish quite often when I was younger,” Regis says before sitting on a bench nearby. “Before life got in the way.” Noctis, fearless and curious, perches on the low wall of stone that fences the pond, dipping fingers into the water as if to pet the fish that swim in lazy circles.

“Can we go fishing?” the boy asks excitedly, shooting his father a wide-eyed look.

_Astrals help me. How can I say no to that face? _

“I will see if I can arrange it,” Regis agrees readily, already imagining the look of dismay on Clarus’s face.

“Yay!” Noctis teeters a little when he claps his hands, and Regis half-rises in alarm, but the prince catches himself before he can fall into the water. The king sits back with a sigh, shaking his head slightly.

A few minutes pass, and Regis allows his thoughts to drift as he watches his son play. The sunlight filters through the surrounding trees to create a serene atmosphere, light shimmering on the glass-like surface of the pond and reflecting in a halo that arcs across the space. Even in the heart of downtown Insomnia, it is as if he and his son are the only two people in the world, and Regis inhales deeply, committing the rare moment of companionable solitude to memory. 

“Your Majesty?” the rough voice pops the fragile bubble of peace surrounding them, and reality crashes in abruptly as both Regis and Noctis turn to the Glaive who is in the process of bowing to the king.

“Yes?” Regis’s tone is firm, bordering on irritated. 

“An urgent council meeting has been called.” The soldier glances nervously at Noctis, as if he is not sure how much else to say in front of the young prince. Regis begins to rise, doing his best not to betray the stiffness of his joints with the movement. “Your retainers are waiting to escort you inside,” he adds, as if to communicate the gravity of the situation.

“Dad,” Noctis whines, rushing over to Regis. The prince pulls tightly on the folds of Regis’s clothes, grip stronger than one would expect from one so small, and he glares up at his father with the authority of royalty. “You _promised_.” Noctis’s eyes are grayer now, like darkening clouds. _An unexpected summer storm._

Smiling sadly, Regis kneels in front of his son, lowering his voice so that only he can hear. “I know, Noctis, I know. Chin up now, my son, and walk tall. I will be back as soon as I am able.”

“Walk tall?” Noctis scoffs a little. “What does that even _mean_?” he groans in the way only a seven-year-old can. Regis inhales slowly, doing his best to appear serious, even when what he wants to do is laugh at the face Noctis is making. He places one hand on the boy’s shoulder, hoping to convey his love in a single touch.

“One day, when you are older, you’ll understand,” Regis promises. “Sometimes, a king must do things he doesn’t want to—things that he dislikes, or things that scare him, but he does them all the same, for the good of his people, and for the ones he loves. We walk tall because we have no other choice.”

“But shouldn’t you get to do what you want if you’re king?” Noctis looks away, lips pushed out into a pout.

“Perhaps, but not if you’re a good king.” Reluctantly, Noctis gives his father his attention again. “I know it is difficult. I want nothing more than to spend all my time with you, but I also want to make sure you, and the citizens of Insomnia, are safe. Do you understand?” Regis’s question is gentle, made all the more so by the flower-crown he still wears. The king reaches for it now, removing the blossoms one-by-one before transferring them into Noctis’s hair.

“I understand,” Noctis says glumly.

“Will you walk tall in my stead?” Regis asks, hand squeezing the child’s shoulder encouragingly. The prince nods once, and Regis opens his arms to invite him in for a hug.

Slowly, Noctis goes to him, and Regis grips the prince tight, inhaling the scent of the flowers now woven like stars into his night-sky hair. When Regis pulls away to stand, he notices how Noctis straightens, pulling his shoulders down and back, and it makes pride surge hot through his chest.

"I know I can count on you," Regis whispers with a reassuring wink. Noctis's lips twitch up at the edges, and for Regis, it's enough. 

Turning to the Glaive, Regis inclines his head. “Please make sure my son arrives at his room safely,” he orders.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” he agrees, joining Noctis by his side.

Offering the prince one last smile in parting, Regis turns to leave the garden, boots treading softly on the grass as he feels a pair of gray eyes burrow into his back, an invisible weight heavier than Noctis settling on his shoulders.


	21. Treasure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in my OT4 AU for _Rain or Shine and Everything In-Between/The Long and Short of It All_, the boys share some of their most treasured memories captured by Prompto.
> 
> _ “There are better pictures of us, you know,” Prompto murmurs, trailing a finger down Gladio’s abdomen._
> 
> _Bringing a hand to nestle into Prompto’s hair, Gladio does a mini crunch to kiss the top of his head. “Yeah, but I like that one. It’s a good memory.”_
> 
> For general audiences, no archive warnings apply.

“Incoming!”

Gladio jerks up from where he is reading, tossing the book aside hurriedly as a blurred body vaults towards him from over the top of the couch. “_Oof_!” the Shield grunts, catching Prompto at an awkward angle. He gets the breath knocked out of him, and his wallet slips free of his pants pocket, landing on the hardwood floor so that cards and cash fly out with a splat.

“Prom—to—!” Gladio coughs and sputters amidst the blond’s giggles.

“Whoops.” He grins sheepishly as he sits up a little, and Gladio slides his hands down to his small hips and squeezes, laughing once he finally catches his breath.

“What was that for?” The Shield is reaching to gather the items that fell, and Prompto leans down to help, their heads bumping together.

“Just felt like it.” Prompto pauses when he picks up a folded photograph, and he smooths it out on Gladio’s chest, grinning when he sees what it is. “Oh, hey, I took this picture!” he exclaims as he surveys it.

It’s a little faded and crinkled, a selfie he took of the four of them in the master bedroom a little over a year ago. Noctis is curled up in the middle of the bed, and Ignis’s face is buried in his hair, glasses askew, one arm thrown around the prince’s waist. Meanwhile, Gladio is flexing (bare-chested, of course) as he sits against the headboard, and Prompto has a peace sign thrown up in the foreground with the biggest smile on his face. From the angle it was taken, it looks like Prompto’s not wearing anything, but he had boxers on—or at least he thinks he did.

“Noct’s birthday last year,” Gladio nods, taking the picture before carefully putting it back in his wallet.

“We just stayed in bed and ordered take out—and watched that Disney marathon on TV.”

Gladio wiggles his eyebrows. “And had a marathon of our own,” he declares proudly.

“Iggy held out the longest,” the blond remembers, snorting. “Surprising no one.” 

“And you came the quickest,” Gladio says, knees knocking into Prompto’s sides teasingly. Sliding down so he can rest his chin on Gladio’s chest, Prompto gives the Shield a lazy smile.

“I’m better over short distances,” he quips. “Besides, you guys ganged up on me.” Gladio takes the opportunity to widen his legs, squeezing Prompto between them, and the blond turns his head to rest it over the larger man’s heart. “There are better pictures of us, you know,” Prompto murmurs, trailing a finger down Gladio’s abdomen.

Bringing a hand to nestle into Prompto’s hair, Gladio does a mini crunch to kiss the top of his head. “Yeah, but I like that one. It’s a good memory.”

They lay in comfortable silence for a few minutes, and Gladio finds himself drifting off by the time Prompto speaks again, the sound muffled against the Shield’s shirt. “Yeah, it is, isn’t it?” Gladio feels the curve of a smile pressing into his ribcage, and his own lips twitch up at the edges, content.

* * *

“Ah, Prompto, what a pleasant surprise,” Ignis says, swiveling in his desk chair to greet the Glaive as he opens the door.

“You’re working late again, Iggy.” It’s meant to be a reprimand, but Prompto’s voice softens at the end. It isn’t in him to be stern, so instead of fixing Ignis with a disapproving look like he initially intended, he glances around Ignis’s cozy office in the Citadel, setting the paper bag full of takeout on the edge of the desk as he wanders in. Ignis watches him with a gentle smile resting on his lips, leaning back in his chair as the blond moves to stand in front of one of the two floor-to-ceiling shelves that frame the room.

“Oh man!” Prompto rises on tip toes to grab a framed photograph on one of the higher shelves, showing it excitedly to Ignis. “This was the best—day—_ever_.”

Ignis chuckles as he gets up, drawing closer to look at it. It’s a picture of Ignis, Prompto, Gladio, and Noctis on the Citadel steps, several years prior, the same day that Noctis told his father, King Regis, about the relationship between the four of them. They thought it meant they would be torn apart, forbidden to be together on account of an arranged marriage to the princess of Tenebrae that had been brought forth—but King Regis had surprised them all by giving them his blessing. It was taken after the fact, and they are wearing their biggest smiles, arms all wrapped around each other in relief, close together like they would never break apart again—and they hadn’t. 

“Ooh—and this one!” Prompto picks up another frame on a lower shelf, a picture that he snapped of Ignis and Noctis without their knowledge—peeking through the cracked bedroom door to where Ignis had started to get undressed after a long day at work. “I can’t believe my perfect timing!” Noctis had come up from behind to hug his advisor, kissing the nape of Ignis’s neck. Prompto likes how Ignis’s suspenders are dangling, shirt partially unbuttoned—and the look on Noctis’s face says it all.

_I love you more than words. _

“That’s my favorite picture,” Ignis admits, wrapping an arm around the Glaive’s waist as he rests his head on top of Prompto’s. They melt together, a perfect fit. 

“Really?” Prompto seems thrilled.

Fingers curl into Prompto’s jacket affectionately, as if to pull them even closer. “Truly.”

Beaming, Prompto carefully returns the photographs to their places, nuzzling under Ignis’s chin. “Will you come home now? You know he gets cranky when you’re late.” Ignis’s laugh is like windchimes in a summer breeze, and he plants a kiss on Prompto’s forehead before responding.

“Let me devour this delicious meal and spend a few moments alone with you first. His Highness can wait,” he teases.

Smile slow and warm, Prompto nods wordlessly before following Ignis back over to his desk, and he perches on the edge of it as the royal advisor returns to his seat. He gives a little yelp of surprise when Ignis reaches for him instead of the bag of food, yanking Prompto into his lap and planting a firm kiss on his mouth.

“What was all that about dinner?” Prompto laughs, delighted. 

“Dinner?” Ignis inquires with a tilt of his head. “I merely said I should devour this delicious meal.” Eyes widening in realization, Prompto sinks back into Ignis’s hold, deepening their kiss.

They don’t leave until long after the food has gone cold. 

* * *

There’s no good reason for either of them to be awake at two in the morning, but one thing led to another, and now they’re curled together in Noctis’s room, scrolling through social media on their cellphones with the covers pulled around them. The prince has one leg hooked between Prompto’s, the other sprawled so it peeks over the edge of the bed.

“Hey, check this out,” Noctis says, turning so that he spoons the blond from behind. He brings the screen in front of Prompto’s face. “It popped up on my memories.” Prompto blinks a few times, squinting at the picture.

“Wow dude, that’s _old_.” He cringes at the high school photo, maybe the first one ever taken of him and Noctis together—they’re standing side-by-side in their uniforms, and Prompto is holding up his usual peace sign while Noctis looks off in the distance, obviously unaware anyone was taking the picture.

_He’s stupidly photogenic, even when he’s not trying. No fair. _

“I like this one,” Noctis says, scrolling through his camera roll to stop on another photo. Prompto gasps, sitting up a little, and he takes the phone out of Noctis’s hand.

“Oh. Em. Gee. That was our first date! I forgot all about this,” he laughs as he surveys their selfie, heads smushed together with an arcade game in the background, _Chocobo Racer 2_. They had kissed in the darkness of the covered booth, then gone to a pizza place and talked until they closed.

“Yep. Just found it the other day—and then this one was my phone background forever…” Noctis takes the phone back for a moment, handing it over once he finds what he is looking for. Prompto goes unusually quiet as his throat suddenly tightens with emotion.

It was one of the days Noctis had gone fishing. They had fought about something—he really can’t remember what—something stupid, no doubt, and Prompto had managed to track him down at the marina. After a lot of yelling (which neither one of them were used to), they had been so exhausted that they had laid down on the dock and cried, neither of them willing to move.

In the photograph, Noctis’s head is on Prompto’s chest, eyes closed as the setting sun illuminates one side of the prince’s sleeping face. The light is hitting just right that it makes Prompto’s eyes look like they are glowing, and a sea of freckles stand out prominently over the bridge of his nose.

“That’s the day I knew I wanted to be with you forever.”

Noctis isn’t the most emotional of guys, but when he admits his feelings, it packs a punch, and this time is no different. All of a sudden, Prompto is finding it hard to breathe, and he buries his face in his pillow with an embarrassing noise. The prince is laughing as he tosses his phone aside and brings his other leg over Prompto’s body, arms like tentacles that suction to his skin possessively. 

“I love you,” Noctis whispers—right in his ear so there’s no mistaking the words.

Muffled, Prompto says: “I love you, too.”


	22. Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another ficlet set in my _Write Drunk, Email Sober_ AU. Prompto and Ignis are dating, and Prompto is in college while Ignis is a professor at his university. 
> 
> _Prompto shoots Ignis his most winning smile, something he reserves for special occasions—or when he knows he is in really deep shit. “Soooo, you know that cat we found under the deck of the ABO house around Halloween? You know, the one that was making all the noise under the floorboards and they thought it was haunted?”_
> 
> No archive warnings apply, for general audiences.

“Okay, I did something, but I need you to promise you won’t be mad,” Prompto says before Ignis has even removed his shoes. 

Ignis looks to where Prompto is peeking over the back of the couch with a large blanket draped over his shoulders, face poking out from the cocoon he has created with it, freckles less prominent now that it is winter and his skin has paled from spending more time indoors.

“That depends,” Ignis hums playfully, slipping out of his coat to hang it in the closet. He loosens his tie before padding into the living room, bending down to plant a kiss on Prompto’s lips. “What have you done?” 

He assumes it has something to do with Prompto playing a prank on Gladio again—like the time he attached an air horn to the frat boy’s toilet seat. That had been an absolute disaster to deal with, even if it  _ was _ hilarious. 

Prompto shoots Ignis his most winning smile, something he reserves for special occasions—or when he knows he is in really deep shit. 

“Soooo, you know that cat we found under the deck of the ABO house around Halloween? You know, the one that was making all the noise under the floorboards and they thought it was haunted?”

Ignis chuckles as he remembers Prompto telling him that a group of college boys had screamed like little girls when said cat emerged suddenly from out of a crack between the porch’s wooden planks without warning. 

“Yes, I do recall you mentioning it.” He pauses, suddenly crossing his arms. “Please tell me you haven’t brought that feral animal  _ here _ .”

Ignis looks mortified when his boyfriend doesn’t immediately say ‘no,’ and Prompto bites his lip, glancing away nervously. 

“Well, not  _ exactly _ .”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Ignis exhales slowly, doing his best to maintain his composure. 

“Not exactly?”

Grin looking slightly more like a grimace now, Prompto turns back the folds of the blanket he has pulled tightly around him to reveal a small, furry object nestled in the hole created by his crisscrossed legs, a tiny body rising and falling with sleepy breaths.

“ _ Prompto _ ,” Ignis groans in exasperation.

“The cat had kittens! And it’s getting colder out, and we were afraid they wouldn’t survive without some help, so a bunch of the guys each took one, including me. Please, please,  _ please _ can we keep her?”

“ _ Keep _ her?” Ignis is incredulous, staring down at the small creature with alarm now. 

It is snow-white in color with black patches over its eyes, and it is so small it would be easy to miss against the light gray of Prompto’s sweatpants if you weren’t looking for it.

“I named her Ghost—because she kinda looks like one, don’t you think? Plus, her mom showed up around Halloween so it seemed fitting. I already took her to get her shots and everything, and I bought her some food and—” Prompto is rambling now, wringing his hands nervously beneath Ignis’s critical gaze. “—we can’t just  _ leave _ her, ya know?”

“Darling,” Ignis says firmly, arms folding over his chest. Prompto’s eyes widen a little, heartbreakingly hopeful. “That is all well and good, but unfortunately, I’m—” Ignis stops, nose wrinkling. Closing his eyes tight, he holds up one finger, turning away abruptly. Ignis sneezes violently, then groans. “—allergic.”

Prompto’s face falls. “Oh.” 

It’s a quiet admittance of defeat, and it instantly makes Ignis feel guilty despite it being a valid reason not to adopt a cat. Adjusting his glasses, Ignis sighs again, gaze panning up towards the ceiling so he doesn’t have to look into Prompto’s sad puppy-dog eyes.

“I suppose we can keep her until we can find her a suitable home at least.” 

Prompto nods quietly, his shoulders slumped in disappointment. “Yeah, that’s fair.” 

Ignis watches Prompto run a hand lightly over the kitten, lips pursing, and the animal nuzzles into his touch receptively.

_ She is quite cute, _ Ignis thinks—then shakes his head.  _ No, we absolutely cannot keep a cat. It would be miserable.  _

“I’m going to prepare dinner now,” Ignis announces suddenly, hoping to lighten the mood (and distract himself from his own thoughts). Prompto makes a noncommittal noise as Ignis walks out of the living room, too preoccupied with the sleeping kitten to see his boyfriend’s apologetic smile.

Prompto eats dinner on the couch with Ghost still fast asleep in his lap. Meanwhile, Ignis sits opposite them in an armchair, trying not to rub at his now itchy and watery eyes. They begin to eat in silence, and Ignis is trying to think of something to say when the tiny kitten lifts its head, giant ice blue eyes blinking open as it yawns silently. Ignis notices how Prompto immediately perks up, and it makes a small pang shoot through his heart.

_ He seems so happy. Perhaps keeping her wouldn’t be so terrible if I could find a way to manage my symptoms. _

“You hungry, baby girl?” Prompto coos affectionately. The kitten meows its answer, shrill and insistent, rubbing along Prompto’s arm and towards the hand that holds a forkful of grilled fish at the end of it. “Well, you’re in luck—Iggy makes the best.”

Ignis’s eyebrows furrow when Prompto brings the utensil towards the animal for it to eat. “You should feed her cat food,” he chides as Prompto allows the kitten to nibble at his salmon.

“I will,” Prompto insists even as he makes no attempt to take the fish away.

Ignis opens his mouth to protest only to close it wordlessly when the kitten licks at Prompto’s fingers, causing him to giggle with glee.

_ Sweet Six, give me strength. _

The two make an adorable picture, and Ignis finds himself pausing more and more in-between bites to watch Prompto and Ghost together, the abysmally small creature now actively climbing onto Prompto’s arm and up onto his shoulders. Without realizing it, Ignis smiles, and it is that exact moment that Prompto catches his eye.

“What’s up, Iggy?” Prompto reaches to pull Ghost back into his lap before she can fall.

“Hmm?” Ignis blinks in quick succession, smile fading back into a neutral expression, nd Prompto flops back onto the couch, letting Ghost wander across his chest as Ignis gets up to take their plates back into the kitchen. 

“You looked like you were thinking of something nice.”

Eyeing the two as he passes by, Ignis coughs, then sneezes again. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“You want help?” Prompto calls after him, petting Ghost as she comes to settle under his chin. 

Ignis doesn’t hesitate this time. “I think I have a handle on things. You enjoy the little one’s company.”

As he starts on the dishes, Ignis tilts his head, listening to Prompto in the living room as he begins to sing. “Soft kitty, warm kitty, little ball of fur…”

“She cannot sleep in bed with us.”

Prompto is staring up at Ignis with his best  _ please I’ll do anything  _ face, Ghost cradled carefully in his arms like a mother holding its newborn. Under different circumstances, the fact that two sets of identical blue eyes—one human, one feline—are both giving him the same look would be comical, but Ignis is shooting for serious right now, not playful, so he retaliates with his best teacher face, eyebrows drawn severely together, lips pressed into a flat line.

“Absolutely not. My sinuses have already suffered enough today,” Ignis reiterates, firmer this time.

“Aw, c’mon Iggy, she’s going to be so lonely—”

“ _ Darling _ .” The term of endearment stretches taut against Ignis’s tight lips, and Prompto immediately ducks his head as if to dodge a bullet.

“Okay,” he sighs. “…can I at least put her in our bathroom?”

Feeling it is a suitable compromise, Ignis gives a terse nod, and Prompto takes the kitten into the master bath, organizing a bed of fresh towels on the floor before setting out her litter box and water bowl. While Prompto makes sure their newest resident is taken care of, Ignis crawls under the covers, turning off the lamp beside him as he relaxes into the warm bed.

“Good night, Ghost,” Prompto announces glumly as he shuts the bathroom door, loud enough that Ignis can hear.

A few minutes later, there is the tell-tale sound of the mattress creaking beneath Prompto’s weight, and Ignis chuckles when Prompto wraps his arms and legs around him and pulls the man in close, nuzzling into Ignis’s unkempt hair.

“Sweet dreams, my dear,” Ignis murmurs as he shuts his eyes, earning a kiss to the back of his neck.

“G’night, Iggy.” There is some residual disappointment in his tone, but Ignis chooses not to address it, figuring they can continue the conversation about whether or not to keep Ghost in the morning.

There are approximately two minutes of silence before a soft scratching sound makes Ignis’s eyelids flutter open, followed up by a gentle mewing.

“…she’s lonely,” Prompto whispers.

Ignis is quick to reassure him. “She will settle down. Give it time.” 

They lie in silence, listening as Ghost’s cries steadily grow more insistent and closer together. He feels Prompto fidgeting behind him, fingers drumming over one hip anxiously.

Ignis ensures his long exhale is heard clearly. “You may let her in if you—” 

Prompto bolts out of the bed before Ignis can finish the sentence, and as soon as he opens the door, Ghost zips out of the bathroom, circling around Prompto and worming herself between his ankles. When Prompto climbs back into bed, he has the kitten in his arms.

“Thanks Iggy, you’re the best!”

Ignis wants to be annoyed—he really does—but hearing Prompto’s joy coupled with the steady thrumming of the kitten’s purrs causes his resolve to waver, and he resigns himself to sharing the bed with the furry addition to their relationship just as he sneezes again—and again, and again…

The first thing Ignis notices when he wakes up is the puffiness of his eyes and how difficult it is to open them. The next thing he notices is the pressure sitting squarely in the middle of his chest. Groaning low, he reaches up to run fingers across his face, cringing at how swollen it feels. When he finally manages to squint one eye open, he catches sight of a small white blob perched on his sternum, and he remembers the events of the previous day and the reason for the assault on his senses.

Taking care not to jostle the kitten, Ignis finds his glasses on the nightstand and slips them on. He is then able to see with amazing clarity how Ghost blinks lazily at him, apparently unperturbed by Ignis’s suffering. Prompto is still snoring next to him, so Ignis blinks back, unmoving.

“Listen here, you feline fiend,” Ignis finally mutters. “I will tolerate your claim on my love so long as you respect the fact that I was here first—and know that this is the only time you will occupy space in our bed. Understood?”

The kitten blinks again before laying her head on Ignis’s chest, tail flicking, and Ignis takes it as a ‘yes.’

“Very well then.” He sighs, turning so he can watch Prompto sleeping, completely unaware of the transaction that has transpired between his new pet and his boyfriend. “I suppose I should stop at the pharmacy today.”

Maybe it seems silly, but the kitten looks so peaceful that Ignis is reluctant to get up, and he leans back into the pillows with a sniffle. Within a few minutes, he is drifting back into his dreams.

**[A few weeks later]**

It’s the first true snowstorm of the season, and it couldn’t have come at a better time. Somehow, although the semester only recently started, Ignis has found himself woefully behind on grading, and he is using the unexpected day off to catch up.

“Coffee?” Prompto asks, poking his head into the bedroom where Ignis is bent over his desk.

“That sounds divine,” Ignis says without looking up. 

He sees a white blur out of his periphery and smiles when it vaults up next to him, landing on the stack of papers he has neatly organized by class and section. 

“Yes, Ghost?” he inquires before giving the cat his full attention. 

She meows at him, tail bending into a question mark, and he scratches in-between her eyes on the top of her head, causing the animal to vibrate with satisfied purrs. The cat then proceeds to walk across the keyboard of his open laptop and then down into his lap, making one circle before decisively curling into a ball.

When Prompto returns with a mug of steaming coffee, he pauses in the doorway to watch Ignis stroke Ghost with one hand and mark up an essay with the other.

“Aww,” he sighs, bringing the cup over to set on the desk. “And just think—you didn’t want to keep her,” Prompto reminds him before stooping to give Ignis a kiss.

Ignis, straight-faced, quips, “I had no choice in the matter. True to her namesake, she took up residence in the house—uninvited, mind you—and now I have no idea how to make her leave.” Grinning, Prompto slides his arms around Ignis’s neck from behind so he can peer down at their lounging cat, who looks quite satisfied to remain perched on the professor’s thighs.

“Yeah, she’s a keeper,” Prompto declares confidently.

Ignis hums, turning his head to steal a kiss from Prompto. “Indeed—and so, my dear, are you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanart by @MysteriousBean5 (Tumblr)/ @CarrieVogel5 (Twitter)
> 
> Obviously Ignis is not _deathly_ allergic to cats, otherwise this would have gone a whole different direction. My wife has a mild pet allergy and we have two dogs and two cats! Overtime she has gotten used to them so that she doesn't need to take meds, but whenever we go to a friend's house and they have pets or we travel and come back home, she will have some sort of allergic reaction (poor thing). So I imagined for this fic that Ignis just stocked up on some meds and takes them as needed.
> 
> Of course, for those who have cats, you know that they gravitate towards people who tend to ignore them, so I like to imagine that Ghost ends up hanging around Ignis even more than she does Prompto and that she keeps him company during late nights spent grading. <3


	23. Ancient

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis and Gladio get a history lesson. Takes place in my _Write Drunk, Email Sober_ AU because I really want to write more Promnis, but I have other writing obligations.
> 
> _“How the hell do you know all of this?” Noctis groans as he throws the sheets back, succumbing to the knowledge that Prompto isn’t going to go away or give up anytime soon._
> 
> _“Ignis,” the blond answers simply, shrugging. “He likes to practice his lectures on me. And I did go to his history class, you know—until he dropped me from it.” Prompto pauses, eyes panning up to the ceiling distractedly, and Noctis catches sight of the blond’s absent smile before he runs a hand over his face, yawning._
> 
> Rated T for mention of some adult themes that are sexual in nature. No archive warnings apply—Promnis and GladNoct.

Prompto wanders into Gladio’s bedroom in the ABO house, the floorboards creaking beneath his feet. It’s dreadfully silent otherwise, which is to be expected considering it’s the middle of winter break. It’s also fucking cold (_has no one bothered to turn the heat on?_)—the student can see his own breath, and the layers of snow on the ground outside only make it more obvious that the old house is lacking in insulation.

There is a mountain of blankets piled in the middle of the king-sized bed, and Prompto stops at the head of it, hands on his hips. “_There_ you are! C’mon, Noct!” He shakes the prince by his shoulders (at least what he thinks are his shoulders) and Noctis groans, low at first, then louder—like one of those air raid sirens, or a cat hissing at you as if to say _stay the fuck away from me_. Prompto doesn’t heed the warning though, choosing instead to flop on top of his best friend so that he grunts in dismay.

Prompto starts laughing. “You know, the first King of Lucis liked to nap too. So you must take after your great, great, great, great, great, great—”

One of Noctis’s eyes appears, popping out from behind a wall of fabric, squinting open as he makes a noise suspiciously similar to a behemoth’s growl (Prompto knows as much from watching _Our Eos 2_), and the prince’s best friend grins.

“—great, great, great, great, _great_ grandfather.”

“Let me sleep,” Noctis manages to grumble before burrowing further under the covers in retreat.

“Funny you should say that, because the first King of Lucis was named Somnus, which actually means sleep. Isn’t that neat?” Prompto begins to jump up and down on the bed, and Noctis’s body rises and falls with the movement of the mattress. At this point, the prince is annoyed enough to actually throw an elbow out blindly, and it hits Prompto in the ribs. “Ow—!”

Grimacing, the blond clutches his side and scoots out of his friend’s reach as he attempts to catch his breath.

“How the hell do you know all of this?” Noctis groans as he throws the sheets back, succumbing to the knowledge that Prompto isn’t going to go away or give up anytime soon.

“Ignis,” the blond answers simply, shrugging. “He likes to practice his lectures on me. And I _did_ go to his history class, you know—until he dropped me from it.” Prompto pauses, eyes panning up to the ceiling distractedly, and Noctis catches sight of the blond’s absent smile before he runs a hand over his face, yawning.

“Uh huh. That _all_ he practices on you?” When Prompto’s face flushes a rosy pink, the prince laughs loudly. “I knew it!”

Prompto kicks a leg into Noctis’s side—“_Oof_!” the prince wheezes—and rolls his eyes.

“No!” Prompto says insistently. Noctis now wriggles his entire upper half of the cocoon he has created, looking to Prompto with obvious disbelief. “Get your mind out of the gutter!” he chides when the prince starts to snicker, lifting a finger emphatically. “You know that the second king of Lucis had male concubines? It was really scandalous at the time.”

“Did you learn all of this while sucking Ignis’s dick—yes or no?” Noctis smirks when Prompto lays over top of him so that their bodies create an ‘x’, limbs flailing in uncontained embarrassment.

“_Dude_, why are you always like this? I’m trying to give you a history lesson on your ancestors, not talk about my sex life.”

“So, yes then?” They both laugh at that, and Prompto is glad that Noctis can’t see his face, because it is definitely more red than pink by now. He decides to try and shift the subject off of him instead.

“What do you and Gladio talk about during sex?” Noctis immediately scoffs.

“We _don’t_ talk. We’re kinda busy—that’s the whole point.” With some effort (considering Prompto is still positioned across his hips), Noctis wriggles into a seated position, stretching his arms overhead with another yawn. “Don’t tell me you guys actually have _conversation_ while you’re doing it.” He side-eyes Prompto, shaking his head when his friend shoots back a bashful smile. “_Prompto_!”

“What?” A pause. “You know that the ancient Lucians, the civilization of Solheim, built an entire set of ruins meant to tell the history of Eos and supposedly serve as a training ground for their elite soldiers? Over time its location was lost, but it’s apparently rumored to defy the laws of time and space.”

Noctis stares, waiting with a deadpan expression.

“Technically Ignis was sucking _my_ dick, not the other way around,” Prompto admits.

“_Really_?”

“Muscle memory, right? Isn’t it easier to remember things if you’re…” he trails off when he sees Noctis smack a hand over his face.

“That’s not at all how that works,” he groans through his fingers. “I cannot believe you two exchange trivia while you’re fucking. Wait until I tell Gladio about this, he’s gonna lose it.”

“Tell me about what?” a low voice drawls, causing both Noctis and Prompto to look towards the open bedroom door to where the prince’s Shield is standing with his arms crossed over his chest. He arches an eyebrow, and its uncannily similar to Ignis’s disapproving look, one that Prompto knows all too well. It makes him wonder if it’s a standard part of the Citadel upbringing, or just something that Gladio has perfected in his time spent with the professor.

“Nothing!” Prompto insists, sitting up hurriedly. Noctis is grinning as Gladio walks further into the room to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Professor Scientia likes to quiz Prompto while he’s got him bent over his desk,” Noctis chuckles, ignoring the glare Prompto gives him. “Does he reward you for correct answers?” The prince dodges a pillow that comes flying at his head with an ease that Prompto finds infuriating.

“I can’t believe you don’t know anything about your own history,” the blond grumbles as Gladio’s booming laugh fills the room.

“Blondie’s getting a better education in the bedroom than he ever has in the classroom,” Gladio joins in before plopping down beside Noctis.

“_Very_ funny. When we kick your ass on trivia night, we’ll see who’s laughing then,” Prompto says as he sulks, lip pushing out into a pout. Gladio and Noctis’s laughs fill the room, dispelling some of the cold, and although Prompto is trying very hard to be mad at them, pretty soon he’s chuckling too.

They’re just beginning to recover from a case of the giggles when Prompto feels his phone vibrate, and he immediately hops off the bed, grinning as he reads the text message.

“Is it from Specs?” Gladio wonders. The Shield has pulled Noctis into his lap, one arm slung around his boyfriend as he rests his chin on the prince’s shoulder.

“Mmhm, he’s here.” Without realizing it, Prompto shimmies in his excitement, and Gladio and Noctis exchange a knowing glance.

“You know, if you need time to, ah, _review facts_ or something before we leave, feel free to…” Gladio starts to say, stopping as he attempts to fight back a grin.

“Huh?” Prompto blinks, looking over at his two friends in confusion. Noctis has his head buried in Gladio’s chest, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

“I think Gladio’s trying to say that if Iggy’s got a lecture to work on, he could practice his _dic_tation on you,” the prince quips, tone undulating with mirth.

Prompto groans as loud as he can to voice his opinion on the pun. _Dude, not funny. _

Gladio isn’t much better. “Practice makes perfect when it comes to _oral_ presentations.”

“Both of you suck.” Prompto only realizes his mistake in word choice when Gladio and Noctis start cackling like daemons. “_Fuck_ you guys!” The blond throws his hands up as he walks out, Gladio’s voice chasing after him on the way.

“I’m fine with it, but I’m not sure your boyfriend would be down for a group project!”

Prompto stops abruptly in the hall, face burning, and deliberates. With his friends’ hoots and hollers still vibrating in the chilled air, he turns on his heel and pops his head back into the bedroom, taking a deep breath.

“You know that the first Shields were eunuchs because they believed it would make them better soldiers?” Gladio and Noctis abruptly stop laughing, both fixing Prompto with the same horrified expression. Prompto, encouraged by the reaction, goes on. “Yeah, some guy thought, ‘sexual attraction and baby-making is only gonna get in the way of the Shield doing their job’, so they went snip-snip—” he mimes scissors opening and closing with one hand and grins when Gladio crosses one leg over the other. “—and chopped their manhood clean off. Isn’t that wild? So, in case you were thinking about proving your devotion in some major way…” The blond shrugs nonchalantly as his friends’ faces pale. 

“Who’s proving their devotion?” an airy voice inquires from over Prompto’s shoulder.

“Iggy!” the three chorus, Prompto turning to embrace his boyfriend and accept his greeting kiss as Gladio and Noctis get to their feet, the prince wrapping himself in a blanket like a cloak (probably because he’s only in boxers, or maybe because he doesn’t want to get out of bed).

“Oh, nobody, I was just telling Noct and Gladio about some of the stuff you’ve taught me,” Prompto answers without pulling away. He slides his hands into the back pockets of Ignis’s jeans, heart fluttering at the slow smile that spreads across the professor’s face.

Eyes glimmering mischievously, Ignis glances past Prompto to Gladio and Noctis, tilting his head. “Ah, the ancient sexual practices of the Sword and Shield and their service to the Crown, I take it?” Noctis’s eyebrows raise with interest.

“Oh?” the prince says as Gladio pulls him in close, interest piqued.

“Nah, nothing like that,” Prompto replies, hands gripping Ignis’s backside playfully. “Besides, I doubt they’d be into that sort of thing.”

“What sort of thing?” Noctis demands, chafing at the underlying condescension.

“Forgive me, Your Highness, I forget at times that your education is somewhat lacking.” Ignis speaks lightly, but there is something sharp in his words as he continues without missing a beat. “You see, the Sword and Shield lines were indeed made into eunuchs at one time, but this obviously made reproduction problematic. Sexual frustrations evolved into what we now consider modern BDSM, which was nurtured in private spaces and celebrated.” He adjusts his glasses before continuing, the room having gone eerily silent. “However, when the royal family discovered what was occurring, they attempted to stop it, referring to it as ‘profane’ and ‘wicked,’ but the Sword and Shield united in their rejection of the decree, killing the king in power and demanding bodily autonomy for themselves and all Lucians. Justice prevailed, and the Sword and Shield took it upon themselves to produce heirs for their family members who couldn’t—impregnating the royal family members that remained. It was a dark time in Lucian history. Shall I go on?”

Noctis swallows hard, shutting his mouth that had been hanging open before shaking his head.

Ignis hums. “Another time, perhaps. Well then—” his smile is dazzling, a stark contrast to his diatribe, and he directs his next question at Gladio and Noctis. “—are you two planning on coming?” There is subtle emphasis on the last word, and Prompto presses his face into Ignis’s shirt with glee as the room gets even colder. The statement is left hanging like a lure bobbing on the surface of the water, intentionally baiting.

“You two go ahead,” Gladio says with an uneasy chuckle.

“Yeah, uh, enjoy your date,” Noctis mumbles, not looking at Ignis directly.

“We certainly will,” Ignis agrees with a wave, wasting no time in taking Prompto’s hand so that he can steer him down the stairs and out of the ABO house. Once they’re outside, Prompto releases the breath he had been holding, creating a misty cloud that floats upwards before dissipating.

“Sweet Six, their _faces_! You didn’t have to go so hard, y’know—I honestly think you scared them. I didn’t know all of that about the Sword and Shields,” Prompto confesses, awed. “Well, except the BDSM part.”

Ignis chuckles, squeezing Prompto’s hand. “Oh, that? It was a little bit of historical fiction, I’m afraid. I merely wanted them to stop teasing you. There was no killing involved whatsoever, although there was some scandal when it was discovered what the Swords and Shields were doing behind closed doors.”

Prompto gasps, halting mid stride so that Ignis has to as well. “Ignis! That’s _savage_.”

“Too much?” the professor wonders, grimacing in embarrassment. Prompto has started laughing, so hard that he has to bend over and place his hands on his knees.

“No—no—it’s awesome,” he assures him. “And, uh, I’d like to keep resuming our lessons on that bit of history, Professor Scientia,” Prompto admits slyly, taking Ignis’s hand once more.

“It would be my great pleasure,” Ignis agrees good-naturedly, leaning in to nip at Prompto’s ear before pressing his lips against the blond’s neck.

Prompto is suddenly warm, sweating beneath his jacket and scarf as he thinks about the next opportunity to study with Ignis. “If you’re a Sword, does that make me your sheath?” Prompto thinks aloud.

Ignis throws his head back, and laughs. 


	24. Dizzy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're not tired of my _Write Drunk, Email Sober_ AU yet...because there's some more fluffy Promnis coming your way.
> 
> _I’m bad with words. We’ve established this. I say the wrong things when I think too hard, and things that make no sense when I don’t think enough. So, this year I decided to write you a letter telling you how much I love you. Because it’s hard—and things that are hard to do seem to be worth the most, and I want you to have the best._
> 
> No archive warnings apply, for general audiences.

_I tried to think of what to buy you for Valentine’s Day, but everything I thought of just seemed…lame. I mean, sure, I could have gotten you the generic chocolate and flowers and a big ol’ teddy bear, but none of that _really_ says ‘I love you.’ _

_Unrelated, but growing up, I really thought Valentine’s was a pointless holiday, and maybe it still is, but it’s kinda nice to have an excuse to spoil you. You work _so_ hard, and you deserve something nice, dang it! Anyways._

_I’m bad with words. We’ve established this. I say the wrong things when I think too hard, and things that make no sense when I don’t think enough. So, this year I decided to write you a letter telling you how much I love you. Because it’s hard—and things that are hard to do seem to be worth the most, and I want you to have the best._

_Okay, so you might be laughing already. I rewrote this about ten times, but please don’t ask to see the drafts (they’re more embarrassing than the email I sent you when I was in your class. I can _see_ you giving me that look—no, _really_, they are, DON’T ASK TO SEE THEM.)_

_My initial thought was to describe everything I like about you, but I had to scrap that idea. Mostly because it would take way too long. And I also realized it wasn’t going to be as, uh, pure as I initially intended. One example—I started saying how bad I am with words, but I love how you’re not. Basically, how you’re well-spoken, but that quickly turned into ‘oh man, your mouth and your lips and the things you can do with them,’ and I had to take a break for a bit._

_Sorry, I got distracted. You distract me a lot, but you know that too. I finally decided I would tell you how you make me feel, but even that got to be really, _really_, long, and I thought, ‘he already has to read essays on a regular basis, the last thing I want is to give him more to read,’ but I couldn’t help myself. _

_In the end, I told myself to pick one word, and even that was pretty hard if I’m being honest. There are so many good ones—you make me feel happy, and safe, and important. You make me believe in myself, and you make me bold enough to try new things, to be honest and silly…oh shit, see? This is difficult stuff!_

_It took some time (an embarrassing amount), but I finally picked one! You, Ignis Scientia, make me dizzy._

_You’re probably going ‘what? That makes absolutely no sense,’ but bear with me here._

_From the moment I met you (saw you), you knocked me off my feet. You weren’t even doing anything special. You walked into the room, and even sitting still, I felt like I was on a merry-go-round going a hundred miles per hour. The whole cliché of ‘falling’ in love? Yeah, I fell all right, except it was from the top of a 20-story building without a parachute, and somehow you managed to catch me. _

_Anytime you are around I lose all common sense (not that I have much to begin with) and my body does weird things—like spill perfectly good coffee, or, you know, vomit. But no matter how it chooses to react, one thing stays the same: that feeling of standing somewhere high up and looking down, or when you spin in circles and come to a sudden stop, or when you drink too much and try to walk in a straight line. _

_You’re the only one who does that to me. I thought that it would get better over time. I mean, we’ve been dating for over a year now (wow!) so you would think I’d be used to it, but nope. Still hopelessly, helplessly dizzy. _

_You kiss me and I lose my breath like I just finished sprinting. I’m lightheaded, and unsteady, and just about ready to topple over. Your smile? It blinds me like when you turn on the lights after being in a dark room, and you’re so disoriented you trip over yourself. And don’t get me started on your laugh. You know when a fire alarm has been blaring and it suddenly cuts off and you feel like you can’t walk because your ears are ringing? Yep. That’s you—Every. Single. Time. _

_I can’t tell you why. We’re both huge nerds—we watch documentaries and read articles and listen to podcasts (for _fun)_—but even though we have learned a lot, we both can agree that science can’t explain everything. Like the comedy of errors that got us together, or how two completely different people fit so well (physically or otherwise), and it definitely can’t explain this dizziness._

_Maybe it’s weird, but I look forward to it in that way little kids like the feeling of bouncing on a trampoline—that flutter in your stomach, and the split second of panic at the height of the jump that thrill seekers chase. I guess it’s kinda why people get drunk, too. It’s freeing to let go of control, even if it can be scary at times. _

_That’s not to say that loving you scares me. Sure, I’m afraid I’m not good enough for you, but you’ve never made me think twice about the decision to be with you (other than when we were getting together, but I mean everything since then). My whole life, I never knew what it was like to be with someone who made me feel worthwhile—but then I met you._

_Oh man, I tried to keep this short and I failed again, so I’ll just end with this._

_I know I’ve been the world’s biggest idiot in trying to prove my love for you, but thanks for putting up with me anyway. There’s no other person I’d rather trip over my own two feet for, and I hope that when we’re old and wrinkly that I’m still a dizzy mess, because this feeling? It’s the best thing ever._

_In conclusion: Ignis Scientia, I am madly in love with you. Happy Valentine’s Day babe xoxo_

_Your Darling Prompto _

* * *

Prompto wrings his hands as he watches Ignis read from where they’re sitting across from each other in the bed. It’s dark in their room save for the gentle glow of the lamp on the side table, making it more difficult to make out Ignis’s expression, but eventually he sets the letter aside and looks up, turning towards the light.

The professor is smiling softly, a strange look clouding his green eyes. His glasses are folded neatly beside him on the comforter, which gives Prompto an unobstructed view of the man’s face, and he notices how his eyes glass over with moisture, pooling at the corners.

“Oh—oh shit—_fuck_, Ignis, did I say something wrong?” Prompto panics, scrambling across the space between them to grab his boyfriend’s hand, and Ignis laughs, shaking his head adamantly.

“No, nothing wrong,” Ignis inhales slowly, wiping at the tears with the back of his free hand. “Only everything right.”

Prompto blinks, perplexed, asking tentatively: “So…it’s good then?” Ignis blows out his breath, laughing in response, and nods.

“Yes, darling.” He puts their heads together, closing his eyes. “The greatest gift I’ve ever received.” Typically, Prompto would duck his head and shy away, but Ignis pulls him in close with both hands, not letting him retreat.

Slowly, surely, Ignis kisses him, and sitting still with eyes shut, Prompto feels the world spin—and he smiles.


	25. Tasty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it's Prompto's birthday and I'm not posting about Prompto (GASP)...but to be fair, most of this one shot collection involves him, so...enjoy some IgNoct instead. (I'm working on a collaborative fic specifically for Prompto's birthday that will be posted later!)
> 
> _At this point, he wasn’t really sure how the fight had happened, or which side he was on anymore. All he knew was that Ignis was pissed and that it was somehow his fault. Somewhere between council meetings and retiring to their apartment was when it had happened, and now the King-to-be was at a loss, trying to figure out the best way to make things right._
> 
> Suitable for general audiences, no archive warnings apply.

_What the hell does he like anyway?_

Over ten years of friendship (and a couple spent dating), and Noctis still didn’t have any damn clue, which is how he found himself staring down the case of baked goods at two in the fucking morning with a frown severe enough to make Titan look friendly.

He could have called someone, Gladio, maybe—_but oh yeah, he’s definitely asleep_—he had Crownsguard training in the morning and wouldn’t take kindly to being woken up. Noctis had made that mistake exactly once and wasn’t in a hurry to repeat it. Prompto, then? He’d probably answer, but there was no way he’d be coherent, or helpful for that matter.

_Dude, just—get whatever, he’ll love it if it’s from you._

Prompto couldn’t be more wrong on that account. Noctis raked both hands over his face as if he wanted to peel his own skin off, head pounding from indecision and lack of sleep.

At this point, he wasn’t really sure how the fight had happened, or which side he was on anymore. All he knew was that Ignis was pissed and that it was somehow his fault. Somewhere between council meetings and retiring to their apartment was when it had happened, and now the King-to-be was at a loss, trying to figure out the best way to make things right.

_You can’t rely on your friends for everything_, he thought to himself. _You can do this_.

So, he tried again, this time, making more of an effort to read the descriptions of the items in the display case, focusing like his life depended on it. For all he knew, it _did_—or at least, his relationship with Ignis Scientia did.

A bored-looking employee eventually wandered by, pausing briefly in their sweeping to glance up. Noctis hadn’t moved for a solid ten minutes from the spot he was standing in, hand perched precariously on his chin like a man about to throw himself off a ledge.

“…can I help you find something?” he reluctantly asked.

Noctis turned slowly, blinking a few times as if he was just now being reminded that other people existed. “Oh. Yeah—which of these pastries is the best?”

The employee’s feature’s scrunched slightly, but smoothed almost immediately into his best customer service face. “Well, that all depends on—”

“Which is the _tastiest_?” Noctis pressed, too tired to listen to the usual spiel. When the (probably severely underpaid) college-aged worker stared back in disdain, the prince decided to amend his question. “Which of them tastes like, _sorry I was an asshole boyfriend, please forgive me_?”

“Oh.”

There was an awkward shift between the two young men, annoyance replaced with a wary camaraderie as the employee wandering over to look intently through the glass. Noctis held his breath, hopeful. Finally, the boy with the broom pressed a finger against the case, indicating one selection.

“My girlfriend loves these. Says they taste better than sex.” Noctis peered down at the baked good skeptically, deliberating. Then he nodded.

“All right. I’ll take all of them.”

>>> 

Noctis opened the door to the apartment, careful not to make any noise as he juggled the large box in one hand. His caution wasn’t necessary however, as Ignis was sitting in clear view of the door with the lamp on over his reading chair, book in hand. The advisor hadn’t bothered to change out of his work clothes despite the hour, and Noctis felt his heart jump into his throat as the older man’s eyes cut up and through him as soon as he closed the door.

_Ouch._ _Definitely still mad._

Ignis closed the book with a _snap_ and folded his hands in his lap, expectant.

The silence stretched long, uncomfortable like a tie that had been tied too tight around the prince’s neck. Noctis was sweating, moving his weight from left-to-right in battle-stance.

“I’m sorry,” Noctis blurted, throwing in the towel early.

Ignis waited, obviously unimpressed.

“I got you these,” the prince added, taking a few slow steps into the room. He tried to maintain his usual level of nonchalance, but it was difficult when his boyfriend was watching him like he one would a daemon. Ignis was undoubtedly the hunter in this situation.

Placing the box of pastries on the coffee table, Noctis stepped back, slipping his hands into his pockets.

“This doesn’t solve anything,” Ignis said, but his curiosity had gotten the best of him and he was already leaning forward to lift the lid off the box. “Hmm.”

Noctis wasn’t sure if the _hmm_ was good or bad. His fingers curled into his palms where they were hidden in his jacket, a silent plea to every Astral for mercy. Without ceremony, Ignis took out one flaky-looking treat with a cherry-red center and took a bite, a hand placed beneath his chin to catch any stray crumbs. 

The following three seconds were tauter than the strings with which Ignis commanded Noctis’s heart.

“Mmm,” Ignis’s tongue flitted over his lips briefly. Noctis swallowed.

“Good?”

The man’s eyes were smiling behind his glasses, and the prince’s shoulders lowered ever-so-slightly in relief. “Better than sex,” Ignis teased. Noctis’s face flushed—he blamed it on how tired he was.

“Really?” the prince croaked, simultaneously embarrassed and pleased.

“No, of course not,” Ignis tutted. Noctis’s already pink cheeks deepened to a rich crimson. Setting down the physical embodiment of their truce, Ignis held out his arm, beckoning the prince to come closer. The prince did as he was silently instructed, perching on the arm of the chair as the advisor wrapped an arm around his waist.

_Finally_.

They both sighed as their bodies gravitated towards each other, tension melting away like warm butter.

“Do try to listen better next time, won’t you?” Ignis’s voice covered Noctis like a blanket, making the prince fight to keep his eyes open.

“I will. I really am sorry.” This time, there was genuine remorse in his tone. Noctis felt Ignis’s head nod against his shoulder, accepting the apology. 

“So am I.” Ignis tucked the prince in closer, mouth finding his. “Thank you for the dessert.” Noctis could still taste the sugar on his boyfriend’s tongue when he finished his kiss, and it made a hunger stir deep in his gut, but not for the recently purchased sweets. Slyly, Ignis added, “Oh, and the pastry is delicious as well.”

Lips curling upwards, the two sank deeper into the chair as their limbs grew more tangled, and no further words were needed.

_Apology accepted. _


	26. Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio's journal entry in year nine of the World of Ruin. I've been enjoying the letter format and felt like I hadn't given Gladio enough attention. This is meant to be set in the same AU as _The Daemons that Live in the Dark_.
> 
> _You never truly get over someone being gone, you know? You just learn to live with the pain of their absence, that constant ache. In all the battles I’ve been through, and all the injuries I’ve sustained, nothing hurts more than the thought that I might never see you again. _
> 
> Rated teen+ for discussion of heavier themes, TW: mention of suicide/suicidal thoughts. No archive warnings apply.

_They say you can’t have darkness without light_._ Well obviously, they were wrong. _

_It’s been nine fucking years, and I have yet to see the sun. I’d like to start a new saying—you can’t find your way until you’ve walked through the dark. _

_I almost didn’t find it—my way, that is. I’m sitting here, guarding a graveyard for Glaives (ironic, I know), thinking how I could have easily been one of the ones buried here. Necromancers have been spotted in the area, and the one time they got in? Hoo boy, that was not a pretty sight. So now we call it the ‘graveyard’ shift, and it’s assigned on a rotating basis. Anyway…_

_Prompto almost didn’t make it. The first year after you disappeared, he slashed his wrists. Took us all by surprise, although I should have seen the signs. We blamed ourselves, even as he got kicked out of the Kingsglaive for being ‘psychologically unfit to serve,’ but we were too much of cowards to do anything about it. To this day, not being there for him is my second biggest regret. The first being my failure as your Shield. _

_Then, Prompto nearly died while imprisoned in some fucked up internment camp for Niffs not long after. Sorry, _Niflheimians_ (I’m trying to be better about that, but old habits die hard). It was a sticky situation, and the bastard responsible offed himself in prison. I hated the guy even more for that, because Astrals know, I wanted to escape this life too, but there was no way in hell I was leaving Prompto or Iggy after that. I couldn’t._

_Ignis has always been the strongest out of the four of us, but even he has struggled. Mostly because he couldn’t stand seeing us suffer, and he is truly lost without you. I’d say it’s pathetic, but we’re all lost if I’m being honest. And then he told us the secret he had been carrying—that he _knew_ what was going to happen to you. Not how or when exactly, but that he saw the future when he put on that fucking ring to save you in Altissia. I kinda lost it after that, and I’m not proud of myself for what I did. It took a long time for us all to recover from it. Even Prompto, the sweetest man alive, was downright pissed. _

_It hurt seeing them like that. We could have used your dumb ass then. You would have given us a reason to stick together. But then again, it would have broken your heart, so who’s to say what’s best. _

_Damnit, Noct. If you make me cry, I’m gonna kick your ass when you come back. I have to say ‘when,’ even though I doubt it sometimes, because the ‘if’ is too painful. It’s all I have left to hold onto. It’s ‘my way,’ and I’m sticking to it. _

_I’m trying to move on, but it sucks. My whole life I was trained to be your Shield, but what is a Shield without anything to protect? Just a hunk of useless metal, gathering dust. Iggy and Prompto found each other, and they’re happy, which is great. Neither one of them need me to be there for them, though they try to include me as much as possible, and even Iris has made a name for herself and is off on her own. They call her the ‘Daemon Slayer.’ _My _baby sister, the Daemon Slayer! I swear to the Six I’m the proudest big brother on the entire planet._

_So, yeah. I guess everyone is doing okay now, even though the road has been long getting here, but it still feels like we’re holding our breaths, waiting for a bomb to drop. You never truly get over someone being gone, you know? You just learn to live with the pain of their absence, that constant ache. In all the battles I’ve been through, and all the injuries I’ve sustained, nothing hurts more than the thought that I might never see you again. _

_I never tried to kill myself, you know. Sure, I thought about it plenty. Even thought of how I’d do it—but a voice kept pulling me back. _Your _voice, laughing at me mostly. It would say, “What, you’re giving up? Some Shield you are.” I’d curse you six ways from Sunday, but ultimately, I’d agree. _

_You may not be here, but I’m still your Shield, and I always will be—and I got a job to do. That job involves keeping everyone alive until you get your ass back here and save us all. Fulfill this godsdamned prophesy, or whatever the hell it is. Sometimes, I think the Astrals must be laughing at us._

_I don’t really care about all that though. I just want to see you, and the sun, and smiles—_real_ smiles—on everyone’s faces. I want a reason for living that isn’t ‘I gotta hold it together for everyone else because I’m supposed to be the strong one.’ Fuck that, man. That’s no way to be. I’ve learned in these last nine years that those who seem the strongest often aren’t. We’re just like everyone else, we just know how to fake it better than most. _

_This is getting depressing, which is why I don’t talk about my feelings to anyone. The outside world is already dark, so I’m trying to find my internal light. Discover my inner peace, cultivate a warrior’s heart—all that bullshit. Mostly, I just drink a lot and kill daemons, and that seems to keep the negative thoughts away. For a while, at least. _

_The one nice thing about the graveyard shift is that it’s outside of Lestallum so you can actually see the stars. Strangely enough, they seem even brighter than I remember. All those nights camping together, and I never really looked up. Now that’s all I do, and I’m not sure why. Wherever you went when the crystal took you, I hope you can see them. It’d be a shame to miss the only beautiful thing the darkness has given us. _

_Ha. A shooting star just blazed through the sky. I wonder…if I write my wish down, will it not come true? I think it’s obvious what I’d wish for at this point. _

_I’m tired of faking it. I hate to admit it, but we need you. Yes, your scrawny, punk ass. The prince who loves fishing and naps and video games, the one who hates training and gets nervous around new people, and who acts more like a cat than a king. Noct, you need to come home. The world needs you. _

_ <strike>I need you. </strike> _


	27. Coat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I started writing for this prompt and liked it so much that I decided to use it for the FFXV Mini Bang, which will be released the week of December 25th. 
> 
> Want a hint? It’s Promnis (surprise, surprise). I hope you will check it out when it’s posted!

Watch me WIP! Now watch me nay nay...


	28. Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a make up for my depressing chapter (Dark). Enjoy some OT4 porn! (Plot, what plot?) Loosely based off my _Rain or Shine/Long and Short_ AU where the boys are all married to each other. 
> 
> _“Uh huh.” Noctis’s head tilts. “Hey…how about we grab Gladio and Prompto and go for a ride?” he suggests, smiling so that his eyes light up mischievously._
> 
> Rated explicit for sexy times. No archive warnings apply.

Noctis is already shirtless and in the process of unbuckling his belt when Ignis walks in. The advisor barely spares him a glance, heading for the bathroom of the master bedroom as he shrugs out of his suspenders, long fingers deftly unbuttoning his shirt as he walks. The prince looks up curiously from where he is seated at the edge of the bed, following his obviously irritated husband with only his eyes.

“Hey Iggy. Did you get caught up at the Citadel?” Noctis ventures from across the room, standing to wander over to where Ignis is now stripped to the waist, splashing his face with water in the sink. His glasses have been set on the counter, and he has yet to acknowledge Noctis’s question. “Ignis?” Noctis says as he leans in the doorway.

“Hm?” the advisor replies distractedly, running a hand through his hair. Noctis scans him, arching an eyebrow in silent question, and Ignis eventually faces the prince with a sigh. “Long day?” Noctis wonders.

“Something like that. My apologies.”

Chuckling, Noctis approaches Ignis from behind, slipping his arms around his husband before laying one cheek against the advisor’s shoulder blade. “What are you apologizing for? You didn’t do anything to me,” Noctis points out.

“Yes, but.” Ignis pauses, hands covering Noctis’s where they rest over his abdomen before continuing. “I shouldn’t bring my foul mood home with me.” He turns, bringing his lips down to meet the prince’s, both of their eyes closing as they kiss, slow and sweet.

“Uh huh.” Noctis’s head tilts. “Hey…how about we grab Gladio and Prompto and go for a ride?” he suggests, smiling so that his eyes light up mischievously.

“A ride? Of course, if you need me to drive you somewhere—” Ignis starts to say, only to be interrupted when Noctis presses a single finger to Ignis’s lips. 

“Hey. Work’s over, and the Crown thanks you for your service. You’re off the clock,” he murmurs, a hand gripping the muscle of Ignis’s hip. “Now, let me take care of you for once, alright?”

There is a long moment of silence as Ignis’s piercing green eyes flit from Noctis’s face down his toned front and back again. His lips purse as the prince fights to maintain a neutral expression, waiting expectantly for a response.

“Very well, if you insist,” Ignis finally agrees.

“Oh, I _insist_,” Noctis grins before taking Ignis’s hand and pulling him out of the bathroom, steps deliberate and self-assured.

* * *

When you have not one, not two, but _three_ husbands to manage, finding time to be together can be hard. You have to develop a schedule, a rhythm—in short, you need to make a concentrated effort to go on dates, to hold hands, hell, to even sleep in the same bed. Life gets busy before you know it, and scheduling isn’t Noctis’s forte, so he knows that Ignis’s stress isn’t just a result of working long nights and getting up early.

He’s also to blame, but he plans on setting things right.

“How long has it been?” Noctis murmurs from where his head is positioned between Ignis’s legs, hands pulling on Ignis’s already undone pants. The advisor’s shirt is unbuttoned and sliding off one shoulder, glasses tossed aside somewhere on the floor.

“If this is what you had in mind, I wouldn’t have bothered to get dressed again,” Ignis huffs, lifting his head off the plush leather of the backseat to stare Noctis down. Gladio and Prompto are busy in the front seat, and they can hear Prompto’s whimpers as he rocks back and forth in the Shield’s lap, feet touching the ceiling as Gladio takes firm hold of his upper body, preventing the blond’s head from smacking the dashboard.

“Too long,” Noctis continues, ignoring Ignis’s complaints in favor of sliding the man’s underwear low on his hips. He takes in the sight of Ignis’s firm cock, which is curling upwards eagerly, betraying the advisor’s arousal. _That’s a good sign at least. _

Ignis lets his head fall back with a sigh, widening his long legs to accommodate the prince. Taking a firm hold of Ignis’s muscled thighs, Noctis pulls him up at an angle before covering the erection with his mouth, tongue applying gentle pressure while his head bobs up and down. There is a soft moan from Ignis, and he reaches back to grab the door handle, fist tightening and relaxing with every movement of the prince’s head.

“_Fuck_,” Gladio grunts when Prompto comes with a cry—Noctis laughs, vibrations sending pleasure shooting through Ignis’s cock. The Shield looks over his shoulder to watch Noctis work on Ignis, and he hums with approval.

“Thought you were gonna take him for a ride, Your Highness,” Gladio teases, and Noctis flips him off without slowing, Ignis bucking his hips up into the prince’s mouth needily.

“Iggy will get what he wants, just watch,” Prompto mumbles as his head lolls to one side, giggling through the haze that has now fallen over his mind.

Gladio takes a hand and gently wipes at the sticky streaks that are now dripping down Prompto’s bare abdomen. “You done, baby?”

“Yep. Stick a fork in me,” he laughs even as Ignis’s moans grow louder and more demanding.

“Woo—go, Noct!” Prompto cheers weakly, sitting up with Gladio’s help.

“Wait—!” Ignis eventually gasps, and Noctis stops, reddened lips still pressed firmly around the advisor’s shaft, eyebrows raising in question. “I want to be on top of you,” he admits, tone gravelly. There’s some more encouragement from the peanut gallery as Noctis straightens, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand before reaching for the lube that they have placed on the center console. Ignis’s breathing has grown ragged, hair messy from the number of times he has raked fingers through his hair during Noctis’s blow job, and the prince takes a moment to admire his husband as he lathers lube onto his fingers.

“Damn, Iggy, you look good,” he proclaims, fingers already diving between the advisor’s legs.

“I’m nothing special—ah!” Ignis bites his lip when Noctis’s fingers enter him, muscles in his legs clenching and unclenching in quick succession. He smacks one hand over his face as the prince’s fingers work, finding where he is most sensitive and stroking relentlessly.

“Damn,” Gladio whistles as Prompto finally regains control of his limbs and manages to slip into the driver’s seat. They’re both facing the back now, observing Ignis’s slow descent into lust-fueled madness—everyone’s favorite thing to witness, although they would never admit it out loud.

“Hey!” Prompto protests when Gladio reaches down to touch his still hard dick, pumping in time with Noctis’s fingering.

“What?” Gladio chuckles. “I thought you were done.” It’s spoken like a challenge, and Prompto immediately rises to take the bait, scooting closer to put a hand over Gladio’s.

Ignis makes a noise then, kicking a foot into Noctis’s chest to push him away. The prince allows his body to fall into the door good-naturedly, sliding down as Ignis rights himself, an animalistic gleam in the advisor’s eye. Crawling on all fours, Ignis makes quick work of removing the prince’s pants and underwear, yanking them to his ankles before sliding a knee to either side of Noctis’s hips.

“Hell yeah,” Gladio groans, eyes fluttering closed when Prompto quickens his pace. Shortly after, Ignis positions himself over the prince’s attentive erection, tsking when Noctis puts his hands behind his head with a smug grin.

“Don’t look so pleased,” Ignis chides as he lowers down, exhaling forcefully.

“Why not?” comes the prince’s retort, thighs rising up to cradle Ignis. Noctis begins to shift his hips forward and back, urging Ignis to take control, and the advisor starts to glide along his husband’s hard-on, cadence smooth and practiced.

“It’s unbecoming,” Ignis says, hinging at the waist to devour Noctis’s mouth with his own, tongue sliding between the prince’s lips aggressively.

“You’ll—be—coming,” he quips in-between kisses, laughing as he grips fingers into Ignis’s hair to tug at the roots.

“Good one, Noct,” Prompto says, lifting his head from where it is currently shoved in-between Gladio’s legs. With a lazy smile, Gladio palms Prompto’s face back towards his cock, eyes half-lidded as he continues to watch the show in the backseat. With the hand that isn’t currently curled in Prompto’s golden locks, Gladio strokes Ignis’s side, cupping the advisor’s ass as he digs his fingers into his flesh supportively.

A chorus of moans echo inside the Regalia, windows fogging from the activity contained within its metal walls, and Ignis’s abdomen tightens with each increasingly frantic movement.

“Fuck—”

“_Fuck_!” Ignis echoes Gladio’s sentiment, head falling back when he comes, a sheen of fluid dripping down the prince’s chest as the advisor swoons, hand reaching out to find Gladio.

“I got you, baby,” the Shield promises, kissing the back of Ignis’s neck, and even with his mouth occupied, Prompto snakes an arm around Ignis’s waist to drag fingers across Noctis’s now slick stomach.

“Six,” the advisor moans, completely undone, and Noctis whistles, eyes trained on Ignis’s face while Gladio pulls them apart, letting the prince’s erection slide free. He loves the way Ignis’s eyelashes flutter from the sudden absence of pressure—lives for the throaty sound he makes as he slumps back into Gladio’s arms.

“Come on, Prompto, you’re next,” Noctis says, grabbing for the blond.

“Hey, wait your turn, princess,” comes the protest from Gladio, motioning to where Prompto is deep throating the Shield’s hard-on enthusiastically.

“I can handle you,” Ignis proclaims, pushing back into a seated position. “Turn over, Your Highness.”

Prompto pauses, a twinkle in his eye, and Gladio chuckles low, hands raising in surrender. “All right, Iggy, he’s all yours,” the Shield concedes. Noctis meets Ignis’s fiery gaze, heat sparking low in his gut.

“You’re one of the few who gets to command royalty, you know that?” the prince tells him as he rolls onto hands and knees. He sighs loudly when he feels Ignis’s hands on him, fingers caressing his opening, others still fondling his balls.

Bringing his mouth down to Noctis’s ear, Ignis whispers so only the prince will hear him. “I’m fully aware. Now, allow me to thank you for the exquisite ride.” Noctis’s body shudders unprompted, and his hands anchor into the leather as Ignis’s bend him beneath their will. 


	29. Injured

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My original ideas for this prompt were all very angsty and whump filled, and I just wasn't feeling it. Then, my discord group was exchanging head canons about how Ignis is when he's sick and I knew I wanted to write some more fluffy Promnis from my _Write Drunk, Email Sober_ AU. So even though being sick isn't the same thing as being injured, I figured it was close enough.
> 
> _Ignis opens one red rimmed eye and croaks a wordless greeting. “Oh gods, Iggy, are you sick?” Prompto pulls the covers back further, much to his boyfriend’s dismay, and Ignis lets him know it with a loud groan. _
> 
> For general audiences, no archive warnings apply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my discord fam--PROMNIS GAY Y'ALL. <3

_Ohgodsohgodsohgods**—**_he rushes into the apartment, not bothering to shrug out of his jacket or kick off his shoes, and the keys are left jingling in the door as he flings it open.

“Iggy? _Iggy_!” Prompto yells, his own voice echoing in his ears. “Ignis?” he ventures again when he gets no response, tearing through the kitchen and living room in the direction of the bedroom he shares with his boyfriend. “Ignis, where are—”

He stops abruptly as he enters the bedroom, exhaling noisily in relief to see a large shape rising and falling beneath the comforter. Their white cat (Ghost, as she is called) is curled on top of it, and the animal opens its sky-blue eyes to meow at Prompto as if to say: _what took you so long?_

“Someone said you never made it to work and then you weren’t answering your phone and…” Prompto frowns when there is no response, and he watches as the cat jumps down to the floor and scurries away as he draws nearer, sitting on the edge of the bed to lift the edge of the sheets and stare at Ignis’s still sleeping face.

Ignis opens one red rimmed eye and croaks a wordless greeting. “Oh gods, Iggy, are you sick?” Prompto pulls the covers back further, much to his boyfriend’s dismay, and Ignis lets him know it with a loud groan. Concerned, Prompto presses the back of his hand to the disgruntled man’s forehead—because hey, that’s what they do in the movies. It feels hot, but also a little cool, most likely from the thin layer of sweat that covers Ignis’s skin.

“You need to go to the doctor.” Prompto is standing, whipping his phone out to call Gladio. _He would know what to do, right?_ But Ignis is shaking his head slowly from side-to-side, eyes closing as if in pain.

“No…I will…rest,” he manages to murmur.

“Okay.” Prompto puts the phone down, nodding worriedly. “Okay,” he repeats, looking around, unsure what he is searching for. “Let me make you something at least.” He snaps his fingers as it suddenly comes to him. “Tea! Tea, with honey, and lemon. My mom used to make that for me when I was sick as a kid—when she was around, anyway. You just…stay there.” Prompto backs out slowly, one finger pointing at Ignis menacingly. Unmoving, Ignis allows his eyes to slide shut again with a sigh.

As soon as he is out of the room, Prompto turns on his heel and makes a mad dash for the kitchen, feeling frantic. “Okay, take care of Ignis. That’s no problem,” he mutters to himself. He knows they have a tea kettle somewhere, but he isn’t able to find it, so a pot will have to suffice. Filling it partially with water, Prompto sets it on the stovetop and sets the burner to high, waiting for it to boil. Meanwhile, he rustles through their pantry, locating the honey and a lone lemon.

“Meds next,” Prompto says to no one in particular, setting the lemon and honey on the counter as he walks away. Their medicine cabinet is behind the mirror in the guest bathroom, and he goes there then, surveying the random assortment of potions and elixirs they have stocked. “An antidote?” he muses, thinking maybe he should ask Ignis, but then deciding against it. _I can figure this out, I have most of a college education, after all. _After another minute of scanning several labels to no avail, he ends up grabbing several that he think might work before returning to the master bedroom.

“Here, Iggy,” Prompto announces, setting the items on the nightstand. Ignis’s eyelids flutter open in acknowledgement of his arrival, and the blond helps him sit up against the headboard. “Are any of these okay?” He’s hopeful as Ignis surveys the options, and is validated when his boyfriend nods, selecting a bottle and popping it open.

_Oh shoot—the water!_ Prompto speed-walks out of the room without explanation just in time to see the liquid in his pot bubbling over. He runs to shut off the burner, grimacing as he hurriedly moves the boiling water aside.

_Nice save, Prompto. _

“Alright, tea.” Placing a hand on his hip, he pulls open the drawer that houses their tea bags, blinking down at the array of names that float up to meet his eye. _Altissian Breakfast, Insomnian Gray, Tenebraean Apple—_and several others he has never heard of. The extent of Prompto’s beverage knowledge includes alcohol and whatever coffee Ignis brews for them in the mornings, so tea is far outside his comfort zone. Scratching his head, Prompto tries to locate what looks most like _I’m sick in bed and want to crawl back under the covers_, grabbing it along with a mug off a nearby shelf.

By the time Prompto sees Ignis again, the professor is looking more like a human and less like death, and he accepts the cup full of steaming liquid with a grateful smile.

He takes a sip as Prompto waits nervously. “Thank you,” the man finally says, and Prompto’s bunched shoulders relax a fraction of an inch from the validation that he didn’t entirely mess it up.

Prompto claps his hands, capturing Ignis’s full attention. “Great, so, plans for today: lots of tea, movies, and cuddles on the couch so you can get to feeling better—and I know how to make exactly one kind of soup, so I hope you like tomatoes.” When Ignis takes a long swallow of his tea instead of agreeing, Prompto pauses, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Wait a minute… you weren’t planning on going in to work like _that_, were you?” Ignis’s downcast eyes answer for him and Prompto strangles an indignant noise. “_Ignis!_”

“I am already feeling much better, thanks to your care. I will manage, I’m sure.”

Prompto’s eye roll is so aggressive that Ignis can’t help but stare. “Oh no you don’t, mister. You know as well as I do that if I were the one who was sick there’s no way in hell you’d let me do anything. You’re staying here, and that’s final—I mean it.”

Usually, Ignis finds it charming when Prompto tries to be authoritative, but with sickness weakening his typically polite tendencies, he snorts in disbelief. It earns him an arched eyebrow that Prompto undoubtedly learned from the professor. “Darling, I love you, but you cannot keep me here.”

An uncomfortable silence falls as Prompto adopts a defensive stance, arms crossing over his chest as one leg cocks out as if to say: _oh yeah? Try me. _

“What will you do, tie me to the bed?” Ignis scoffs with amusement, sliding his glasses on so he can more effectively glare at Prompto over their rims. A pinkish tint colors Prompto’s cheeks, but he refuses to look a way, eyebrows drawing together stubbornly.

“I’ve seen you do it enough times. Don’t think I won’t try it.”

Very, _very_ slowly, Ignis pulls his hands into his lap, interlacing them with the smallest upward tilt of his chin, a vicious smirk stretching his mouth into a long line. Heat shoots between Prompto’s legs as he maintains eye contact with the professor, toes curling against the floor to keep the blond from squirming beneath the intensity of Ignis’s gaze.

“Oh?” The single syllable packs a punch, rolling disbelief, anger, and a challenge all into one.

“Y-yeah!” His response sounds more unsure than Prompto would have liked, and he almost kicks himself for stuttering, but he follows it up with: “I’ll call Gladio and Noct. They’ll be on my side.” Ignis’s chuckle devolves into a cough, and he has to set his mug of tea down as he struggles to breathe.

Face contorting with concern, Prompto rushes to his boyfriend’s side. “Iggy, you good?” The man waves him away, but Prompto ignores the gesture, running a hand soothingly up and down the man’s back until his breathing returns to normal.

“Blasted cold,” he sulks (which, Prompto thinks, is kinda cute, because he rarely ever does). “Very well. I’ll stay in for today—but you mustn’t stay too close, otherwise you’ll get sick as well.”

Prompto’s answer to that is to throw both arms around Ignis’s shoulders so that he can plant a sloppy kiss on his cheek, overexaggerating the smooching sound he makes. “Oh no, looks like we’re stuck together,” he teases.

“Don’t come crying to me when you’re ill,” Ignis warns, tone ominous.

“Oh, you know I will,” Prompto deflects flippantly, hopping up with a grin. “And then _you_ can tie me to the bed,” he jokes.

Finding his cup of tea once more, Ignis smiles lazily at where Prompto is now in the doorway. “Darling, you needn’t be ill for that to occur,” the professor promises.

Prompto, looking pleased, blows Ignis a kiss. “True, but playing nurse is so much more fun when it’s real, right? In theory, at least.” He shimmies a little, face still flushed, and Ignis admires the way it highlights his freckles. “Anyway, I’m gonna go make that soup and que up _Our Eos,_ okay?”

“Yes, darling,” Ignis concedes, sinking back into the pillows. “Oh, and Prompto?” he calls, causing the man to poke his head back into view.

“Yeah, babe?”

Ignis clears his throat of the phlegm that is currently stuck in it, recognizing how foolish it would be to try to leave the house any time soon. “I love you,” he declares, softly so as not to start another coughing fit.

The skin around Prompto’s eyes crinkles with the strength of his smile. “I love you too.” 


	30. Catch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not your typical "father and son playing catch." I really can't get enough of young Noctis and Regis together.
> 
> _“What if I do it wrong?” he demands, taking a mini step back from the ledge so he can’t see the ground. Any time he looks down, the world spins a little, and he doesn’t like the feeling it gives him—that he might topple over at any moment. _
> 
> For general audiences, no archive warnings apply.

He’s staring down from what seems like an impossibly tall height—nearly four of him could make up the wall on which he stands, maybe more—but his father watches patiently from below, wearing his signature relaxed smile. The expression is at odds with the scrunched features of the seven-year-old, lips drawn down into a frown, eyebrows pushed together in doubt and concentration.

They’ve been at a stand-off for about twenty minutes now while the world passes by around them, soldiers going about their daily activities as they spare the king and prince curious glances.

“What if I do it wrong?” he demands, taking a mini step back from the ledge so he can’t see the ground. Any time he looks down, the world spins a little, and he doesn’t like the feeling it gives him—that he might topple over at any moment. 

“We all make mistakes, Noctis. That’s a part of learning,” his father answers calmly. Several members of the Kingsglaive are standing at attention at the edge of the training ground, watching with interest, and the young prince’s eyes flit to them nervously.

Lowering his voice, he whispers: “Everyone’s gonna laugh at me if I mess up.”

“No one will laugh at you,” Regis assures him. “Everyone in the Kingsglaive had to learn, just as you do now. They understand how difficult this is, especially for one so small.” His tone is laden with kingly authority, and Noctis believes him, but it doesn’t do much to assuage the boy’s fears.

“I’m gonna fall,” the prince insists, wringing his hands.

“Noctis,” the king says, putting power behind the name so that it draws the boy’s eyes to his father’s face. “If you do, I promise that I will catch you. I will never let you get hurt on my watch. Do you believe me?” They hold eye contact, Noctis biting his lip as he seriously considers the question.

“Yeah,” he finally agrees sullenly. Regis swallows a chuckle, knowing that it won’t be appreciated by his anxiety-ridden son.

Looking expectant, the monarch opens his arms wide, watching as Prince Noctis takes a deep breath, small chest puffing out as he bends at the knees and arms, preparing himself for launch.

“Are you ready, dad?” the child calls out.

“I’m ready,” the man confirms, permitting himself the smallest of smiles.

“I’m gonna throw it now,” Noctis announces. Regis nods seriously, remaining vigilant when he sees Noctis reach for something in his pocket. “One…two…” Arms held high, the king braces himself, feeling the magic pulsating in his veins as his own son draws upon it. “Three!” Noctis shouts.

Something is lobbed over the edge of the wall, a small ball often used in the Glaive’s training sessions, and the prince’s father tracks its graceful arc with his eyes, feet moving to position himself into its trajectory. There’s a wild shout from the boy as he takes a running leap after it, and a flash of blue light that stutters through the air, taking on the prince’s shape. Regis can see the concentration on the boy’s face, and then—

Noctis vanishes from sight.

It’s only for a few seconds, but the king is grinning by the time his son reappears, strong arms encircling the boy as he collides into the man’s chest. The king has caught the ball in his hand, his son’s beacon (or warping point, as they call it) but he lets it drop to the ground so he can hug Noctis tight, both of them laughing.

“Dad! _Dad_! Did you see me? I did it! I did it!” the prince is yelling excitedly, and even the members of the Kingsglaive are applauding and cheering from where they stand several yards away.

“I knew you could,” his father is saying, a hand ruffling the prince’s hair affectionately.

“Oh man! It’s so _weird_ dad, like my body went all tingly, and I could see you, but the world went _whoosh_ and it was sparkly and—do you think I can do it again? Dad, _please_—”

“Slow down, slow down,” the king laughs, a low rumble that vibrates through his chest and across his son’s skin. He sets the prince firmly on his feet before patting him on the head. “Yes, we can do it again—” Noctis is already running behind the wall to climb the steps that will lead to the top, scooping up the ball on his way. With a sigh, Regis shakes his head, but he’s still smiling, his son’s enthusiasm infectious.

“Back up dad, I’m gonna throw it even farther!” Noctis declares, excitement showing on his face. The king does as he is told. “You’re gonna catch it, right?” The question is more rhetorical in nature, seeing as Noctis already knows the answer, but the prince’s father humors him anyway.

“Of course, Noctis.”

“Okay—here I go!”

There is no countdown this time, the prince lobbing the ball high and far, but Regis is ready, using his own powers to warp to meet it, and his son, before either of them ever hit the ground.


	31. Ripe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little ghost story around the campfire in honor of Halloween.
> 
> _“But there was nothing there,” Gladio admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, I turn back to the door, take my keys out of my pocket, and I’m fumbling with them, you know? The hair on the back of my neck is standing up and my stomach is in knots—I’m scared.” He laughs as if he knows how ridiculous it sounds, but no one else laughs with him._
> 
> Suitable for general audiences, no archive warnings apply.

The campfire burns low, embers like dying breaths. Ignis is getting to his feet to tend to it, poking a stick through the glowing coals and causing them to spit red and white flames into the air. Prompto, sitting beside Noctis, watches Ignis work while he curls his blanket more tightly around his shoulders to brace against a sudden chill. Gladio sips from a mug of coffee, which he is drinking despite the lateness of the hour, and crosses one leg over the other as he sinks back in his chair.

“I guess it’s my turn to tell a story,” Gladio says, his voice low like the groan of the wind through the trees. Noctis shivers, scooting a little closer to Prompto, and the sharpshooter lifts an arm to invite him into his cocoon of warmth. The prince joins him as Ignis takes his seat, sipping from his own cup of steamy liquid as he peers up into the star-studded sky.

“When I was little, my mom would tell me about her village’s different traditions and beliefs for Spirits’ Day. Where she came from, there were a lot of things they did because of old superstitions about monsters and daemons, and she’d get me and my sister all excited about them—drove dad crazy.” Gladio pauses, chuckling a little, and he is silent for a long moment, eyes far away.

Prompto nuzzles into Noctis’s shoulder then—it’s cold enough to excuse it as a need for the prince’s body heat to warm him, but Ignis is smiling behind the rim of his mug, and Gladio is too distracted by his own thoughts to comment.

“There were a lot of things we did. We’d tie little paper ghosts in trees, and light candles in every window, and make sure all the doors were closed and locked while singing at the tops of our lungs—silly stuff. But my favorite tradition was the food.”

“Of course it was,” Noctis snorts. Prompto and Ignis shush the prince in unison, and Noctis pokes his best friend in the ribs, making him yelp and jerk back. The prince grins—until he catches sight of Ignis’s steely glare—and then he immediately ducks his head, quieting.

“Yeah, my mom would say that the best way to appease spirits was by feeding them, so she would spend all day cooking, and then we’d have a big feast, but we’d always make sure to leave out a huge plate for whatever spirits were happening by. She’d tell us that you had to learn which foods were the spirits’ favorites, so it was best to make a little bit of everything at first.”

Prompto’s eyes widen, firelight making them appear a pale blue, nearly white. “How’d she know what food the spirits liked?” he wonders as Noctis rolls his eyes next to him. Gladio nods, face serious.

“I asked her that, too. She told me that after Spirits’ Day, we could eat the food that was left out. Whatever seemed tasteless or bland was a food that the spirit had eaten, which would explain why it didn’t have any flavor to it. My grandfather’s ghost liked ripe fruit, is what she said—we’d have apples, and oranges, and peaches too.”

“And? Did they really not taste good the next day?” Prompto asks, sitting up a little more, obviously intrigued.

“They were like sand in our mouths.” Gladio shrugs, spreading his arms helplessly. “There was really no reason for it, especially because most of everything else tasted just fine—but all the fruit? We’d spit it out it was so bad. And it wasn’t like they were rotten, just…_gross_.” Ignis hums thoughtfully in response to Gladio’s answer, but for once, he has no explanation to give. “Even after she died, we kept putting food out—until the one year that my father and I got in a fight. I was so angry that I went out with friends instead. I completely forgot about the tradition.” Gladio shakes his head, expression darkening. “It was the only time I would forget.”

Ignis and Noctis lean forward slightly, Gladio’s ominous tone capturing their interest. The three men sit motionless, holding their breaths in anticipation. There is a slight hesitation from Gladio, a flicker of something dark across his features, and he glances up to see his friends’ faces, each of them waiting for him to continue. Taking a deep breath, he goes on.

“I came home late that night, long after midnight. Dad wasn’t the kind to leave the light on and wait up, so I made my way up the long driveway in the dark, and I didn’t think anything of it—but then I got to the front door.” Prompto pulls his blanket up to his nose, the sudden crack of the wood breaking in the firepit making him jump. Gladio continues, staring blankly into the flames that burn between the four of them, far away again. “There’s glass up the sides of it, remember? Like, little windows, mostly for aesthetic, I guess. But I saw something reflected in it. It was bright. Bright enough that I turned around, thinking someone was behind me or there was a car in the driveway.”

Everyone has gone quiet now, and there is a gulp from the direction of Noctis and Prompto, impossible to tell which one of them it came from.

“But there was nothing there,” Gladio admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, I turn back to the door, take my keys out of my pocket, and I’m fumbling with them, you know? The hair on the back of my neck is standing up and my stomach is in knots—I’m _scared_.” He laughs as if he knows how ridiculous it sounds, but no one else laughs with him. “But then…I see it again. There’s this…white light, and it’s bigger now, _closer_.” Ignis grips the arms of his chair, surprised to find goosebumps rising on his forearms. Even in the light of the campfire’s glow, it suddenly seems like the dark is pressing in, seeking to swallow them.

Gladio presses on, more quickly now, as if sensing it too. “I finally get the damn keys in the door, and I’m hurrying to get it open. I feel this…_presence_, a breath on the back of my neck. It’s hot and I can smell something rotten—like death. I swear I thought I was gonna piss myself. I even tripped over the entryway and fucking _slammed_ the door shut behind me. Locked it faster than you can blink. You’d think dad would have woken up from the noise, but he didn’t, and I almost wished that he would have so he could have told me I was being an idiot, that there was nothing out there.” Prompto is holding onto Noctis beneath his blanket now, fingers gripping tight into the prince’s skin and leaving indentations—but Noctis doesn’t even acknowledge the pain of it, his own fists clenched so that his knuckles have gone white.

Shadows cover Gladio’s face as he sits back, exhaling loudly. “I looked out the window, and it was still completely dark, but there was a…” he gestures vaguely with his hands, frowning. “…a _shape_. Like a person, standing there. And no matter which way I turned or looked at it, it didn’t change, and it didn’t move.”

“What did you do?” Prompto whispers, practically in Noctis’s lap now.

Gladio laughs, but there is no mirth to it. The sound grates against their eardrums, like two knives rubbing together, and Ignis cringes. “I ran to the kitchen and I took out all the food I could find and put it on one big ass plate.” He chuckles, a little more softly this time. “Then I turned on all the lights, shoved it outside as quickly as I could before locking the door, and went straight to my room. I locked my bedroom door, too. Didn’t sleep a single wink.”

“And the next morning?” Ignis prods. Noctis and Prompto are surprised to see that even Ignis, the biggest skeptic of their group, is captivated by the story, but then again, this is Gladio _I’m not scared of anything_ Amicitia who’s talking.

Clasping his hands between his knees, Gladio closes his eyes as if trying to block out the memory that now rises to the surface. “The next morning, I got up with the sun. Everyone else was still asleep. I opened the door and looked at the plate of food…” Gladio lifts his head slowly, meeting the gaze of each of his friends before saying grimly: “Everything was there—except for the fruit.”

“…what?” Noctis is the first to ask as the silence stretches long between the four of them.

“I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true. I had put out a bunch of stuff, so if it was an animal, I doubt they would have left everything else alone. The fruit was just—_gone_. There was no mess to clean up, no bite marks to find, no footprints to track. I even searched the fucking driveway. Nothing.”

“Wow. That’s, um, pretty wild, dude,” Prompto comments, shooting for a lighthearted tone, but falling flat.

Gladio grunts as he folds his arms across his chest. “Yeah, that’s one way of putting it. So—needless to say, I don’t forget to put fruit out anymore.”

“Ah, that explains why you bought so much at our last stop,” Ignis realizes.

“That’s, uh, tonight?” Noctis ventures a guess, slowly uncurling Prompto’s fingers from where they are still digging into his arm. There’s a nod of confirmation from Gladio, which elicits a strangled whine from Prompto.

“G-great! Well, I think it’s past my bedtime,” Prompto announces shakily. “Noct, buddy, you tired?” He looks so hopeful that the prince can’t help but agree, and the two rise together, heading for the tent they all share.

“Iggy, you coming?” Noctis asks as Prompto slips through the flap and into their thin-walled refuge.

The advisor smiles politely. “I think I’ll stay up a bit longer with Gladio, but I will be in shortly.” Not waiting, Noctis follows after Prompto, leaving the two men to themselves.

“Suffice to say, I doubt any of us will be getting any sleep tonight.” Gladio has already gotten up to retrieve the paper bag teeming with produce that they purchased at their last rest stop, the fire now sputtering out. He carefully sets fruit in a ring around the haven, eyebrows drawn together. “How much of that story was true?” Ignis questions, unable to contain his curiosity any longer.

“All of it,” the Shield insists stubbornly, and Ignis knows better than to challenge him based on his defensive tone, so he cleans up things here and there, waiting for Gladio to finish with his task so they can go to bed.

When everything has been completed to their satisfaction, Gladio puts the fire out by dumping a bucket of water over the embers, listening to the hiss of protest it creates, hot steam billowing up into the cold night. He then turns and follows Ignis into the tent where Prompto and Noctis are curled together, obviously pretending to be asleep. Using what room is left, Ignis and Gladio lay down, shoulders rubbing together as they pull blankets over themselves.

Within fifteen minutes, Gladio can hear the inhales and exhales of his companions deepen and even out, finally succumbing to their exhaustion. Meanwhile, the Shield stares up at the ceiling in the dark, listening for every bump and rustle in the night, heartbeat thudding rapidly in his chest.

* * *

Gladio is groggy when he wakes up, and he’s surprised to find everyone still sleeping soundly around him despite the sunlight filtering through the tent’s walls. Usually Ignis is awake by now—and so is he—but they did stay up later than normal, after all. Nature is calling though, so despite the fact he’d rather stay beneath the warmth of the covers, he shoves himself up and carefully tip toes around the three sleeping bodies beside him.

When he steps outside, Gladio hunches his shoulders against the morning chill and walks towards the edge of the haven, but something causes him to pause.

He looks, then looks again, taking a double take of their campsite. Then, he stomps back over to the tent, tearing the flap back angrily.

“Who the hell did this?” he growls. Ignis’s eyes bolt open, and he frowns, grabbing for his glasses folded beside him. Prompto is groaning, face burrowing deeper into Noctis’s hair, and of course, the prince doesn’t stir whatsoever.

“What’s the matter?” Ignis asks, attempting to sit up.

“This isn’t funny.” Gladio’s tone is sharp, bordering on dangerous, and it erases all traces of sleep from Ignis’s face.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” the advisor urges. Ignis is on his feet and out of the tent before Prompto can yawn loudly, and he surveys the scene to find what Gladio is referring to. He stares, taking it in calmly while Prompto groans behind them.

“What is it?” the blond inquires sleepily.

“If someone’s messing with me, I'm not amused. Did Noct do this?” Gladio demands, gritting his teeth so hard that it actually hurts.

“Come now, Gladio, we all went to sleep before you. You think any of us would get up in the middle of the night and…” Ignis looks at a loss, turning in every direction, eyes panning around the haven. “…eat all the fruit you left out?” Gladio swallows hard as Prompto finally emerges, rubbing his eyes.

“Who ate fruit?” Prompto is asking, obviously not fully awake.

Ignis shakes his head from side-to-side, perplexed. “Gladio set fruit out last night and it’s missing. Did you are Noctis…?” Prompto blinks in rapid succession, face going white.

“No! No way we’d do that! Are you guys being for real? Is this place _haunted_? Please tell me this is a prank and that you’re messing with me right now.” Gladio takes one look at Prompto’s grimace and knows he’s telling the truth—the kid can’t lie to save his life, and their prince is still sound asleep, none the wiser.

The silence that falls over the haven is even more oppressive than the night before, and even in the brilliant morning sun, a heaviness falls onto Gladio’s shoulders that he can’t shake. Jaw clenching, he begins to grab up their supplies, moving jerkily, muscles tensed.

“Wake Noct up. We’re leaving,” Gladio states.

For once, nobody argues, and both Ignis and Prompto jump into action. Gladio can hear Prompto in the tent, shaking Noctis. “Dude, come on, get up! We gotta go.”

“…huh?”

Then, a hushed whisper: “Did you take Gladio’s fruit last night? Be honest, man.” 

“…his _what_?”

Gladio feels his skin crawl, and he stops suddenly, looking nervously over his shoulder. His eyes fall on something sitting in one of the camping chairs, and he wanders over to it, jaw slack in disbelief. He has to pick it up just to be sure it is real and not a figment of his imagination.

It is an apple, skin red as blood, with a single bite taken out of it. Hand trembling, Gladio turns it, biting into the other side.

He chews, then promptly spits the flesh out on the ground.

_Tasteless_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read these one shots, left comments/kudos, and just generally supported me through this endeavor. I've never done a full Inktober before and this was an exhausting and rewarding experience. Not gonna lie, I'm looking forward to taking a little break from writing before finishing my other obligations, but I hope you enjoyed these mini fics as much as I did! Thanks again for reading!


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